This Dying Soul
by Neko-Kanojo
Summary: He was slowly dying inside. Because of one stupid mistake he knew would haunt him forever. But he didn't want help, he didn't even need help. And certainly not from them. Now COMPLETE.
1. Silence

Okay, I had the idea for this while watching the second season. It's starts off between **Distractions **and **Skin Deep**. I have no idea how long it'll be because it's rather indefinite in my mind… But anyway, it's going to be pretty dark and there will possible by character deaths. So here you go, enjoy, hopefully.

Note that I do not own House, M.D., any of the characters and such. I also do not hold credit for the name of this story as it is a title from a Dream Theatre song.

**Chapter One**

**Silence**

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Chase liked to take walks. He'd been doing it often ever since he'd come to America, even more so in the last few weeks. The quite simple reason for this was that he needed to relax a bit after work. Life at PPTH drove him nuts sometimes and he frequently felt the great need to decompress, so whenever he found the time, he'd take a walk.

There weren't many people in the streets at this hour; Chase liked most of all to walk very early in the morning because he could do so rather undisturbed. The air was thick with the cool scent of rain and steam rising from the sewers: winter had just relinquished its place to spring so it was rather chilly outside. He was starting to wish he'd thought to put on a scarf and a warmer coat, but he was too far from his apartment to go back now. So he pulled up his coat so it covered his nose and buried his hands in his pockets, striding along with a calculated rhythm.

He turned a corner and quickly came to the decision that his walk was over when he was met with the cheers of drunken people coming out of a bar across the street. He wrinkled his nose at them and took left into a shady alley, with no desire at all to run into any of them.

As he treaded at a rushed pace through the alley that was a shortcut to one near his own, he tripped over something that was lying in the middle of the way. He fell face-down in a rather large puddle of dirty and cold rain-water and a trash can fell over him. He yelped and turned around so he was sitting to see what he'd tripped on. It was a person, crouched down against the brick wall, but with one leg stretched out to the middle of the alley – he'd stumbled on the leg. Chase was seriously freaked out when the guy turned to him, groaning. The man was barely visible in the faint lights coming from the street, but Chase could see his eyes gleaming at him. Everything in him was screaming for him to run away as fast as he could, but he didn't. Some unknown and much undesired force was somehow keeping him glued to the ground, staring hopelessly at whoever it was who'd decided to lie down in this barren alley.

He could feel the man was weak; he was completely still, but his harsh, rusty breath pattern could be heard over the faint pitter-patter that had begun from the rain starting to pour down on them. Chase stood up, wincing at the jolt of pain in his knees from his fall, and went over to the man, suddenly determined to help him. Whoever he was, he didn't deserve to rot here. He supposed it must be some drunken-ass guy – and the thought of it caused him shivers. He held a great resentment to people who drank too much; probably inherited from his mother's death. Nevertheless, he grabbed the underarms of the man and attempted to lift him from the ground.

A low grunt rang through the dawn; "Gettoff!"

Chase's breath hitched and he let go, "I'm only trying to help you… Is everything okay?" He questioned, gazing down at the faint silhouette of the person, who seemed to momentarily pause, listening. Or maybe he was just in pain. "I don't… need… your help." He said with difficulty, as if he was having serious trouble breathing, though his voice was this time much clearer and distinguishable. Chase froze, hardly daring to believe he recognized that voice. But he did. It was unmistakably…

"_House?!_" He asked unbelievingly. He felt the man freeze too, then grumble; "What?! Tch… go away…" He was very incoherent, which worried Chase. He remained briefly frozen into place, shocked, before saying, "What the hell are you doing out here?" There was no answer. He shook House by the shoulders, sitting between his legs, "House! House – stay with me, come on!" This seemed to snap him out of his reverie and he jumped slightly, eyes widening, then he groaned and nodded away; "…No! Go _away_…!" Chase let his arms drop to the side and looked around helplessly. He felt so powerless, and was wondering what he should do when it hit him hard – he was a doctor damn it! He shook his head, resisting the urge to slam his forehead repetitively against the wall and took out his cell phone. He quickly found Cuddy's number and dialed it strait away, shaking House continuously so that he wouldn't go unconscious.

As soon as Cuddy answered, he cried out; "Cuddy! It's Chase – I found House laying on the ground – please send someone –" Cuddy stopped him; "What do you mean? Where? What's wrong with him?" She demanded. Chase took half a second to breathe and calm down before answering; "I was taking a walk and I found House – lying in the street – he's not well, I can tell!" He told her their coordinates and she assured him she was sending an ambulance right away. Sure enough, the sounds of heavy sirens soon filled the street. Right on time, too: he'd only just finished dragging House onto the sidewalk under a streetlight so they were visible to the paramedics. He stood back and let the nurses lift his boss onto a stretcher and into the back of the vehicle, waiting until the coast was clear before climbing in himself.

One of them plugged the cripple onto some machinery and they checked his vital signs. Chase watched them working without really taking notice of what exactly they were doing. In the light of the ambulance, he finally had a glimpse at House's condition. He was a right mess; his face was all dirty and he had blood trailing out of his mouth. He was all wet too, his soggy clothes clinging onto him, ripped in places.

An eternity seemed to pass before they finally got to the hospital and Chase followed the nurses pushing House's stretcher into an emergency room. One of them stopped him from entering with them; "I'm sorry sir but I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside." She told him courteously enough, though still looking in a hurry for him to get out. "But I'm a doctor here!" Chase protested, rummaging around in all his pockets for his card, but he knew he'd left it at home, "I… I don't have my card…" He finished lamely. The nurse smirked at him and led him to the waiting room next to the clinic. Once he was there, he started pacing nervously, unable to sit down; he didn't think he'd be able to stop fidgeting if he did. He wondered furiously what could be wrong with House. Was it possible he had some sort of sickness?

A voice pulled him out of his thoughts; "Chase? Is that you?" He blinked and Cameron's face came into focus. "My god, what happened to you?" She asked, looking up and down at him. Just then, Foreman arrived; "Hey, what's going on? Cuddy called me, she said – _Holy crap_, Chase!" He stopped to stare at him too. Chase blinked again, then he realized he must look like a total wreck. When he looked down at himself, he wasn't entirely surprised to find that his front was covered in House's blood, his palms were all bruised and he was dripping dirt and grime all over the floor, his sodden clothes weighing him down; he must look like a washed up corpse. He hastily began to explain; "I came across House – he was laying the middle of this dark alley all beaten up and stuff. So I called Cuddy and they brought him over here. He's in an emergency room right now."

They both frowned, and Foreman cleared his throat; "You think he might have gotten in a bar fight?" He asked, and Cameron looked remotely shocked. "He wouldn't do that would he?" She disputed, looking around at Chase as though he would have the answer. He merely shrugged and puckered a brow; "I don't know," he said slowly, "sounds like something he'd do." Cameron appeared mortified, looking around at Foreman, silently asking him to negate this. However, he shrugged too, "It's possible. We won't know for sure until he wakes up though." Chase hugged Cameron slowly, and was tempted to say something comforting, but he couldn't find the words so his gestured stayed silent. She must really have needed this because he was really filthy and dribbling muck all over her now too. He stroked her back and let her go, smiling at her; "Don't worry." He said.

They didn't have time to do much more before they were joined by Cuddy, looking all flustered and in a hurry. She paused to take in Chase's trampled appearance, but it seemed she had much more pressing things to deal with than the puddle of dirt he was spreading over the floor as he paced because she got to her point immediately; "I've just spoken to the nurses." She announced, looking around at them with a dismayed expression, "They can't figure out what's wrong with him until we get some of the tests results back… which won't take too long, but they're closely monitoring his condition. He's in a coma."

Chase heard Cameron's breath draw back, and he himself was staggered. Cuddy placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled weakly, "Don't be too hard on yourself. He would have been a lot worse if you hadn't found him." Chase couldn't speak; he knew it was ridiculous, but he somehow felt guilty. Foreman bowed his head, "When can we see him?" He asked, sounding rather gloomy. Cuddy nodded, "They've moved him to a permanent room. Come with me." She urged them to follow her and they hurried along, people stopping wide-eyed in the corridor when they saw Chase, but he took no notice of them. He was too anxious.

House's room was eerily silent in comparison to the busy hallway they'd just come out of. A heart monitor was beeping faintly in the corner, but it was the only sign indicating that he was alive. Chase and Cuddy stood on the left side of his bed while Foreman and Cameron took the right side, looking down at him sadly. His face was much more peaceful than they'd ever seen it and he'd obviously had the dirt washed off him before being moved to this room because he was looking much less bashed than in Chase's memory. Unless his memory was exaggerating. He looked around, "Maybe we should call Wilson." He stated, if only to break the resonating silence. He hated this kind of morose silence. Cuddy told him she'd already called him, so Chase went back to listening to House's heart monitor. It was the only thing saving him from this horrible silence. He longed to say something to someone, but he didn't know what, and he didn't think anyone would appreciate him talking right now. They were all quiet; simply staring downwards at the man they'd up to now believed was untouchable. How mistaken they'd been – here he was, House, defeated and desolately resting on a hospital bed.

The door behind them slid open and Wilson slipped in, walking quickly to stand beside Cuddy, contemplating his friend for a moment before turning his gaze to her. "What's wrong with him? God – I was so scared: I went through a red light!" He told her, wide-eyed and agitated, with a sort of hopelessness in his voice, and Cuddy shook her head; "They don't know yet. We'll have to wait for the test results because… he's not going to be able to tell us anything for some time." Wilson stared and glanced at the heart monitor, realizing what she meant.

He suddenly covered his face with his hands, emitting a gruff sigh, as if he were trying not to cry: "It's all my fault damn it!" He declared, his voice muffled in the pit of his fingers covering his mouth. Cuddy put her hands on his shoulders, shaking her head and hushing; "It's not your fault, it's nobody's fault, we all –" Wilson slapped her arms away, turning his back to them, "No, you're wrong. If this is someone's fault; it's mine." Cuddy looked undignified by his gesture, but quickly recomposed herself, frowning forlornly at him.

"What do you mean?" Chase asked him, curious, "What could make it your fault?" Wilson spun around to face him, distraught, "I told him he was stupid for sending Stacy away!" At the bewildered faces he was thrown after this announcement, he clarified; "He was going to make Stacy stay here and leave Mark… She was ready to do it, but he turned her away, saying she shouldn't be with him. I told him he was being obnoxious – that he was only pretending to think he didn't want her around so he could continue being miserable. Because it's what makes him… special." Everyone stared at him, Cuddy scratching her forehead.

"So you reckon," Chase began, "That he went and got drunk, got beat up in a bar and ended up in the street? And now he's in a coma because he hit his head or something… All this because you told him he's dumb?" Wilson stared back at him, with a troubled expression, "Well, I don't think it's your fault. How many times a day do people misjudge him and tell him he's being stupid, or reckless?" He told the oncologist, who just sighed, "I know, I know…"

"We should have seen some signs if he inflicted this upon himself though, right?" Cameron asked nervously, with a throaty head-ache kind of voice, "I mean, remember Friday? He took a bunch of drugs to deal with a migraine! Shouldn't that have meant something?" Cuddy shook her head, "No, he does crazy things like that all the time." Foreman grunted; "Maybe we shouldn't be trying to figure out whose fault this is! Because personally, I don't think anyone's responsible." They all looked ashamed at themselves and nodded to each other. Cuddy's cell phone rang, and she announced she had to go work. "You probably should do the same," She told them before leaving, "Except you, Chase: go shower and change clothes."

Foreman and Cameron left together for the differential room, and Wilson stayed with Chase a bit. "Was he unconscious when you found him?" He questioned, keeping his gaze on House. Chase scratched his head, and regretted it when he felt the dirt in his hair stick under his fingernails. He let his arm fall to the side; "No… he kept groaning at me to leave him alone. But…" He tried to think back – it was all strangely distant in his memory, "He recognized it when I said his name, though. I said House and he twitched. But he went limp afterwards and that's when I called Cuddy." Wilson nodded, "What were you doing outside at that hour?" he suddenly asked, looking a bit suspicious. "I was taking a walk," Chase answered, as normally as he could, knowing it would sound strange, "I always take walks really early." He explained to which the oncologist nodded and parted with him, patting him awkwardly on the back, "Well it's lucky for him that you do." And he left Chase alone with House.

He didn't feel like taking a shower, which was odd considering the amount of filth he had on him, so he stayed standing there. He looked intently at House, half expecting the man to jump up at him with some snarky retort, or laugh at them for being concerned. But the cripple stayed put, as motionless and quiet as he was when they'd first come. Chase bit his lip, and then shot out, "What were you doing there? Don't you know how scared I was for you?" He knew House wouldn't reply, but he couldn't stand the silence. Even if he had to imagine that House would answer back. He could hear him already: _Why would you be concerned? I'm not dead or anything. Now go do an MRI. _Yeah… he would say something like that when he'd wake up. Because he would wake up, there was no question of that. Chase knew he would.

He finally resigned himself to take that shower and shuffled his feet down the corridor to the locker rooms and showers, ignoring the stares he received from passing people. None of them understood. They didn't know what he was feeling.

He got to the showers and climbed in, shutting the curtain and shivering as he threw off his clothes and let them fall to the floor. They collapsed with a smacking wet sound into a crumpled pile. The shower was quickly turned on and he waited for the water to warm before stepping under the surge. It was one of the most revitalizing showers he'd ever had at first. Only now did he fully realize how dirty he'd been as he watched the dirt stream down in circles around the drain, mixing with the blood from his scratches; which seared under the water. He didn't know how long he'd been in, but the water was getting colder, so he turned it all the way to hot. It burned his skin, but he ignored it, clenching his teeth, and rubbing hard at his body with his fingernails. He had to get this dirt off, this guilt, all this pain… he had to wash it away. He would never forgive himself if House died. No – he shouldn't think that! House would be fine. But in the meantime; he had to wash himself. He was filthy, dirty, guilty… And the steam rising around him from the hot water was making his mind drift out of focus, twisting around him, threatening him with his guilt. He couldn't let it stay and burn him. So he rubbed and rubbed and scratched at himself, painfully aware of the heat, the steam, the pain, the blood…

Suddenly, the water was cold. It was mind-numbing, scorching deeply throughout his skin, so cold it was burning him. He tried to run away, but his body was stiff all over. Hands were touching him, pulling him out of the burning cold, screaming his name. He jumped and looked around, the bathroom coming into focus. He shook his head, stumbling to stand up, realizing he'd fallen over in the shower, no doubt dizzy from the heat. All his senses went numb for a moment; for one whole agonizing moment, he thought he'd gone deaf, but all the sounds around him suddenly came back to him. The running water, the slipping of his feet on the wet tiles and a voice: "Chase! Chase!" It cried.

He looked up and saw someone looking at him. He managed to get up, with some help from the person, and hold himself upon the wall. The person closed the water and shook him, holding him firmly as if he would collapse again. He stared back and recognized Foreman, scrutinizing him with a truly scared face. Chase struggled to stay standing, nearly slipping. Foreman handed him a towel and he took it, quickly wrapping it around himself when he realized he was trembling all over. He went to sit on the wooden bench in the middle of the changing room and Foreman followed, towering over him, looking concerned. "Are you okay? Geez, Chase, I really thought you were dying… Cameron sent me to see if you weren't drowning in the shower or something, you know?" Chase didn't answer, pulling the towel higher so it covered his neck.

Finally, he looked up at his rescuer, and mumbled; "I'm fine." Foreman tittered and sat down next to him, "What is wrong with you? You really scared me." Chase shook his head, though it must have been indistinguishable from his already shaking body. "I must have dozed of… the water was too hot. I'm sorry." He told his colleague, leaving out the smaller details. He remembered clearly how he'd felt and was momentarily scared of himself; was he going insane? He'd certainly acted insane when he thought back, scrubbing at himself like that even though all the dirt had been washed off… He realized Foreman was still staring at him, and he struggled for something to say. "I – how long was I in there?"

"About an hour. After like thirty minutes we thought you must be taking your time because you were really dirty you know… but then we wondered if you were even in the shower. We went back to House's room and we figured you were still down here when we found it empty. And since Cameron can't come in, I came to see if you were okay." Foreman answered, twiddling his fingers. Chase shook violently and Foreman noticed. He helped him get up; "Go stand under the warm water for a few seconds to get rid of the shaking alright?" Chase stayed rooted on the spot; "No." Foreman sighed, "Come on, you'll feel better." Chase seriously doubted it. Even if, somewhere inside him, he knew Foreman was right, he didn't want to go in that shower again. He couldn't stand the thought of it. So he shook his head once more and said, rather forcefully this time, "No! Okay? I'll be fine… Just… Let me change and I'll be up there in a minute." Foreman seemed defeated, but nodded and left him.

He wiped himself thoroughly with the towel and dried the most water he could out of his hair with it, and got dressed. As soon as he was, he went to place his hair in the mirror and noted how blue his lips were. He was still frighteningly cold. He swept the thought off and attempted to do something with his blond locks, but finally left them untamed and hanging to the sides, even more so than usual. Then he figured he shouldn't let Foreman and Cameron wait too long because they'd just storm in here worried about him again. So he went to put his dirty clothes in his locker and headed for the conference room. People in the corridors were staring at him again, but this time it was probably more because of his disheveled appearance. He had been lucky to find spare clothes in his locker, but unlucky that they were baggy grey sweatpants and an old and faded Rolling Stones t-shirt.

He got to the conference room, ready to be met with Cameron's fretting. Indeed, as soon as he entered, she advanced one him; "Are you alright? God – you look beat-up! Sit down, you must feel terrible!" He let himself be led to a chair and sat after only remotely attempting to brush her off. She handed him a coffee and he drank it gratefully, even if it was decaff. He felt like going to bed, but the sun had only just come up. It was going to be a very long day. He sighed and stared at the whiteboard, which still hadn't been cleared of their last patient's symptoms even if they'd solved the case two days ago. He nearly expected House to burst in and yell at them for something or another. Or possibly rant about one of his latest clinic patients or at least something! But this emptiness was nearly unbearable. It was even worse that he felt it was his fault. He felt attached to House in some way – he'd saved him after all. Saving someone's life was one of those kinds of things that made you closer usually. Although in this situation, it wasn't certain that House would survive, and Chase doubted House would see it the same way he did.

Cuddy walked in and looked at them, "No patient yet…" They shook their heads, and she observed Chase. "Take the day off." She told him. He jerked his head up at her, "What? Why?" He demanded, and heard how weak his voice sounded. Her face softened, "Because you're already as tired as it is. And either way… I wouldn't want you meeting patients in this apparel." She said, surveying his clothes, "Go on; I'm calling you a taxi." He thought of a few things he could say in protest, but she walked off, clearly giving him no choice. He hung his head, drank the last of his coffee and smiled dimly at his colleagues, Foreman staring blankly back at him and Cameron giving him a small wave of parting.

He was in the elevators, feeling too tired to take the stairs, when his decision was made. He wasn't going home. He was going to stay with House. He didn't think he could bear to be alone. He didn't want to be surrounded in silence. So he went to House's room and slid the door shut behind him. He was immediately met with the same intolerable silence as earlier in this very same room, and he quickly walked to the chair next to the bed, quickly, like a child in the dark who's frightened that monsters will catch his feet if he doesn't sit on his bed. He pulled the chair closer to the bed, and sat on it with his legs crossed and stared at House mournfully, wishing for nothing more than him to wake up.

He stayed like this while, and he heard the door slide open. He turned around to look at who it was and wasn't altogether surprised to see Cuddy. She smiled; "I thought I'd find you in here." She confessed, walking up to him, "I was watching by the window to make sure you'd take the taxi…" Nothing more needed to be said and Chase nodded. "I don't want to go home." He stated simply. She smirked, "You sure? There's no point in staying here with him."

"I want to. He… I just want to stay here. There's no rule against it is there?" Chase asked, and Cuddy shook her head slowly. "No. You can stay here. Is there anything you want? Food… something?" Chase thought around; he was hungry but he strangely didn't feel like eating. He shook his head so much his hair moved around. He suddenly felt like a child, sitting with his feet together, holding his toes and shaking his head wildly. He suddenly _wished _he was a child. To be overcome with an innocent incomprehension of what was happening would be just great. Cuddy smiled a third time at him and left him alone with no further ado.

He stayed sitting there was an undetermined lapse of time before he fell asleep, drifting away from the harsh reality he was stuck in, hoping that tomorrow would be better and hopefully bring answers. He was in a blissful slumber – the kind of one that erases all thoughts, but that is dreamless. He felt strange, as if he knew he was still at the hospital, but also lost somewhere in his own world.


	2. Empty

Yay, new chapter! It's a lot longer than the last one and I hope you like it. So that's it I guess... Thanks to all the reviewers… and the people who put this in their faves or story alert.

I still don't own House, M.D.!!

**Chapter Two**

**Empty**

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He woke up with a start when he heard the door open. Looking around, he saw Cuddy walking towards him with a breakfast tray. She put it on the table next to House and smirked at him, "Are you okay? Your back'll get stiff from sleeping on a chair." She told him, but he nodded vaguely, looking at the tray of food. It was filled with bacon, eggs, sausages and beans from the cafeteria. "What time is it?!" He asked, not believing he'd slept through a whole day and night. Looking at the window, he saw the blinds were shut but there was no sun outside. "It's four in the morning." She replied, giving him a strange stare. He gulped and felt his stomach squirm – right, he'd been asleep for fourteen hours; it was no surprise that he was hungry. So he grabbed a fork and began to eat. "Thanks," he said to Cuddy after swallowing his first bite. She grinned at him, "I knew you'd be hungry." And she left him to eat alone.

She'd been right, he was so hungry that he finished his plate without letting go of the fork even once, then drank down all his orange juice before slumping back into the chair. His back was pretty stiff after all and it hurt a bit in the lower bit but he ignored it, sighing with satisfaction and looking back at House, who was still in the same position as yesterday. He blinked, and sat closer to the edge of the chair, letting his feet touch the ground and noticing his feet were a bit numb from spending so much time under the weight of his legs. Looking at House with deliberation, he said, "Why won't you wake up? I know you're there…" He knew it was senseless, but he couldn't help it. He needed to speak to someone, but he knew neither Foreman, nor Cameron, nor Cuddy or even Wilson would understand the pain he felt, so he was resigned to speak to House.

The door opened again and this time he didn't turn around, suspecting it must be Cuddy, but it was a nurse. She didn't so much as glance at him while she changed House's pillows and hung a new bag of transfusion blood. Chase watched her and was reminded that House had lost quite a lot of blood yesterday. That's probably why he'd been so pale… The nurse looked at him at last, "Dr Chase, right?" She waited for him to nod before continuing, "Dr House's test results are back. I'll need to see his attending doctor." Chase didn't answer and as she flipped through some pages on her clipboard. "That would be… Doctors Chase, Cameron and Foreman." She told him, handing him House's file before leaving. He looked over the results hastily and looked at House one last time before rushing to the conference room.

He was a little surprised to find it empty and dark, but he remembered it was only four in the morning, so therefore it was normal for Cameron and Foreman to be absent. He sighed, placed House's file on top of the cupboards, knowing for sure that no one would find it there and went back downstairs. He put on a lab coat to hide his less than formal clothing and went to do some clinic duty. There weren't many people in the clinic at this hour, but it kept him occupied at least. He reckoned this was the most time he'd ever spent at the hospital when he checked the time once more: six thirty – it was about time for his colleagues to arrive. So he wrapped it up with his last clinic patient and headed upstairs, keeping the lab coat on.

This time, he was glad to see both of them at the table in the differential room, drinking a first cup of coffee. Cameron beamed at him, "You look much better. Did you sleep well?" Chase gave a sort-of shrug; not wanting to say he'd actually spent the whole night here, in House's room no less. He'd suspected maybe Cuddy would have told them – Dean of Medicine she may be, that woman was a real gossiper when it involved House. It seemed she hadn't because the subject was dropped. So he got the file from the top of the cupboard and while writing the symptoms on the whiteboard, he explained; "Forty-nine year old male, presenting with a Mild Traumatic Brain Injury, minor internal bleeding in the arm, and is still unconscious from an unknown trauma. He's lost a lot of blood, but is currently receiving transfusions, and his tox screen revealed amounts of Methadone." He finished writing all of the down and turned to his colleagues, who frowned while they considered the case.

Foreman was the one to say it, "Well, there's nothing strange there… he doesn't need further diagnostics. He must have been on prescribed Methadone and took too much, leading him to develop suicidal ideation – a common symptom from the ingestion of Methadone – and tried to kill himself. It isn't rare. So why are we taking this case?" Chase smiled, "Because we don't have any other patients to deal with. And we can do all the tests we want on this guy; he's out cold." Cameron stood up after downing the rest of her coffee and threw him her characteristic concerned-about-a-patient look. "Is there anyone with him we can talk to to get a history?" Chase shook his head, watching Foreman stand up too and start to gather his stuff. "No, he's alone. Someone found him in the street and called an ambulance."

Foreman smirked, "It's House isn't it?" He hypothesized, and Cameron had a look of realization on her face: she clearly hadn't made the link. Chase nodded but stayed silent. "We've been named his attending doctors. Cuddy probably figured he wouldn't want anyone else to treat him. So… we should do an MRI and a CT scan because I checked his eyes, and one of the pupils is dilated." The other two nodded and they left to run their tests.

They found that House had an MTBI of grade three. This meant he'd be in the coma for most probably at least twenty-four hours. They couldn't expect him to get out of it any sooner. So with no more tests to do, they brought him back to his room, while Foreman went to explain the situation to Cuddy. Chase and Cameron stayed in House's room together and Cameron immediately rounded on him; "You didn't go home did you?" Chase frowned, 'How do you know?' sounded too obvious, so he went with; "What do you mean?"

"You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday." She stated, and he looked down. She was right. He suddenly felt filthy even if he hadn't done anything too tiring, and felt the need to take a shower, but something in him was denying that need so he stayed there. "Oh… yeah, well… I didn't feel like going home." He told her, knowing it wasn't a good enough answer, but she apparently decided to be kind and drop it. He sighed and went to sit on the same chair he'd spent the night on.

The day went by uneventful and Chase decided he should go home tonight; there really wasn't any point in staying with House anymore. On the plus side, he wasn't feeling as scared by the prospect of being alone in his apartment as he had been yesterday. Maybe it had all just been from the stress following finding House half-dead in a dark alley. So when he got outside, he was reminded by his empty parking spot that he'd gotten here in an ambulance. He sighed heavily and walked to the nearest bus stop; eventually, he got home and went directly to his bedroom, sprawling down on the bed and falling asleep at once.

----

The following morning, he resigned himself to taking a shower, thinking he probably didn't smell too good. He stepped hesitantly under the warm water but after a few seconds, he relaxed his tense shoulders and put his head under the water too. He supposed the breakdown he'd had in his last shower had been from stress because this one was extremely soothing.

So he was feeling particularly peaceful and rested when he sat down to have breakfast, noticing he was hungry. Probably had to do with the fact he hadn't had supper last night. After eating, he drove to the hospital and found Wilson, Foreman and Cameron in the conference room. The oncologist smiled at him and looked around the three ducklings; "Good to see you Chase, you look a lot better. I just came to tell you that Cuddy's given you a case." He then gave the file to him and walked off to attend to his own patients. Chase sat between Cameron and Foreman after making a much needed cup of coffee, and they looked over the case together. Foreman snorted, "House would have been right on this case..." Indeed, the patient was a fifteen year old model. She had collapsed at a fashion show and attacked a fellow model. Chase however, honestly couldn't care less and highly suspected drug abuse.

Cameron quickly left to talk with the patient and Foreman went to schedule an MRI and a CT scan. Chase stayed in the differential room alone, silently drinking his coffee. His colleagues returned and told him they'd found she'd been taking heroin. So they convinced the dad to let them detox her. Other than working on the case, Chase often visited House, who was always as silent with no obvious intentions of waking up any time soon. Bu Chase persisted on visiting him every few hours; it somehow made him feel more caring. He knew it was dumb, but he needed to feel like he was doing something for House, even if he wasn't.

When he thought back, he hadn't seen the week fly by, and was wondering how time could pass so quickly when it was time to leave the hospital on Thursday night. They had done everything they could on their own for their newest case, and were told to keep persisting by Cuddy, who thought they were more than capable of solving it without House's help. Their boss was stable enough, but it had been three days and they still could not be sure if he hadn't sustained any major brain damage. They'd just have to wait to find out. So after three days of helplessly running around trying to figure out what was wrong with their model patient, it was time once again for them to go home. Chase briefly considered staying at the hospital tonight, but thought he'd rather had enough of PPTH for a while. He seriously needed to rest.

Another relaxing shower and he was feeling ready to sleep. But he didn't want to. He was actually very hungry so he made some microwave supper he'd had in his freezer for god knows how long, and sat with it in front of the TV. He wasn't even watching it, rather thinking about their case and House. Yeah, House would probably have figured everything out by now… But it felt like all their efforts to get along without him were leading them to nowhere. Their last thought today had been that she may have cancer, and Wilson had gone to do tests on that.

Chase let out a sigh and shook his head, trying to think about anything other than work. But his thoughts always led to House somehow. It was patronizing how guilty it made him feel. If there was anything, _anything _he could do to be sure that House would be okay, he'd do it without a second thought. He didn't think the department would survive if House died… And he fell asleep on his couch.

He jumped up from his sleep when he rolled off the couch and fell to the floor with a dull thud. Groaning, he checked the time and saw that it was nearly time to go to work. So he got up and submitted to his dull routine.

When he got to the hospital, he was shocked to find out that Wilson had spent the whole night here doing the cancer tests. He, as well as his two colleagues, was even more shocked and discouraged to find that Alex, their patient, didn't have cancer. On one hand, it was good news, but it also meant they were back to point zero. "It _has_ to be cancer!" Foreman declared after going through the x-rays and other test results for the umpteenth time, throwing them back into the middle of the table. "We're missing something." Chase said, not for the first time, and Cameron smirked, "What?" Chase shook his head and sat down. "What would House do?"

"House isn't here!" Foreman pressed, "We should be focusing on what we should do."

"Yeah!" Chase countered, "Because, so far, that's what's been working the best right? No, we have to do what House does." Foreman shook his head dejectedly, staring at the blond, "What do you expect us to do? Insult the patient 'till she cries? Maybe ask the father is he abused her? Or, I dunno… look for anything that is completely unrelated to medicine!?" Chase stared back. "You think the father could have abused her?" Foreman slapped his forehead, "God, Chase! This is crazy –"

Chase got up, "Maybe it's not." And he left his colleagues there to exchange worried looks. In the end, that father admitted having slept with his daughter 'one time' and they made speculations on that. Cameron, on the other hand, couldn't believe it and called social services. This led to complications but the girl admitted having done it, that is; seducing her own father to get what she wanted. After a few more tests, they had to conclude that it was totally irrelevant to the model's condition. They were back in the blue and time was beginning to be a problem.

They really couldn't find what else could have caused this, so they ran more echographies and an MRI, if only to keep them occupied. They figured it would only help them to run new tests, and they were right. They found something in the girl's body that resolved the whole case; she was actually half a boy, a very rare condition called male pseudohermaphroditism, and that she did have cancer – in her left testicle. It was really strange, but they solved the problem and she got to go home. It was only three, so they were doomed to stay here at least until six, doing paper work and such.

Chase decided to visit House again. When he entered the room, he found it as motionless as usual. He walked to House's bed and just stood there, the same way he'd been doing for the past six days; in total, that counted two days after House's trauma and four working on their patient.

He squinted at House, as if his disheveled and motionless face would hold answers to something. But it didn't. He kneeled down at the side of the bed and rested his head on House's arm, holding the older man's hand in his softly. His grip hardened as he turned his head to look up at House's face. He could only see the underside of his chin and his nose from here, but he remained there, staring at him. He placed his other hand on House's and whispered; "Please… please, wake up." A silence followed, the most horrible one yet and Chase clinged harder onto House's whole arm this time, "Please… please, please…" He continued.

He felt his heard bound forth rapidly as the sound of House's heart monitor amplified. He sat up and stared at it, watching the numbers creep up and the lifeline's rate increase. He stared at House, as though frightened, but kept his grip on his arm, waiting, holding his breath –

House's eyelids fluttered, and his lips parted slightly. The Australian watched in astonishment as his head moved to the side, gazing at him with as much bewilderment as Chase, if not even more. He couldn't stop himself from smiling and he felt tears sting his eyes, though he didn't want to blink and miss a moment of this. House stared back and Chase grinned; "Hey… Welcome back." He told his boss, whose gaze widened, "Chase?" He asked, as though questioning the blond's existence. Chase smiled even more, glad that there was no apparent brain damage. "Yeah, it's me. How are you?" House closed his eyes, like he had a bad head ache. Maybe he did, it wouldn't be uncommon. "Where the hell am I?" He inquired irritably. Chase gaped for a moment, but he knew it was normal. This was all part of recovery. It was quite remarkable that House had been freed from his coma so soon. So he answered, "At the hospital House… You're going to be alright." He assured him, not sure if House could even remember what had happened. Apparently, he could because his eyes shot open and he started breathing heavily.

"Of course I'm going to be alright you dim-witted wombat. I don't need to be here damn it!" He shouted, trying to sit up. It caused a streaking pain in his leg and he crumpled down onto the bed again. "How long have I been here?" He asked, calming down at last. Chase sat up straighter, "Six days House… You've been in a coma for six days…" He told him. House's eyes widened, "A coma? Are you sure?" Chase rolled his eyes, "Well yeah, I _am _a doctor…" House smirked, "Rightly you are. Now get me out of here or something." Chase bit his lip. Should he call the nurse? That would probably be the best medical thing to do, but the worse thing to do for House. House obviously didn't want to stay here. He decided on the middle ground and started examinating House himself.

He looked up at him resentfully, "What are you doing? I'm fine!" Chase forced him to stay down as he tried to sit again. "I want to be completely sure. Calm down a minute or two…" He checked everything and once he'd decided that House was in fact fine, he removed the hand on his chest preventing him from sitting and helped him up. House grumbled something incoherent. "What?" Chase inquired and House looked around, panicked. His heart monitor rate sped up dramatically and Chase laid him down again, afraid he'd done something he shouldn't have. But he checked House's eyes and he seemed perfectly fine this time. In fact, the cripple looked up at him and said, "You leant your hand on my leg you idiot."

Chase took his hand away at once, "Sorry…" House grunted, "You'd better be." And sat up on his own. Chase was relieved that he was fine but a little angry at being treated like this. He'd saved House's life for Christ's sake! Of course… House didn't know that yet. He didn't need to know until everything was clear for Chase. "What were you doing in that alley?" He asked the older man, whose brow furrowed lightly. "You…" His eyes widened, "You're the one who found me!" He exclaimed. Chase sighed; so much for he didn't need to know yet… "Yeah, it was me. You remember?"

"Of course I remember! I'm not stupid." He ranted, "Look, I got drunk okay? And I couldn't even walk strait. I bumped my head and fainted. That's it." He affirmed, trying to move his legs so they hung over the edge of the bed. But he couldn't. "You're under heavy sedation, House, you won't be able to move for a while… But… that can't be all." He told his mentor who looked up at him scornfully. "You were in a coma House! You can't just have bumped your head." House scowled at him, "Don't you think I know what happened? Now get off! And where the hell's my cane?" He demanded forcefully, looking around at the room, as though hoping the cane would come bouncing happily to greet him. Chase had to stop to think. He'd found House and had him brought strait over here… he hadn't seen the cane anywhere. Well of course, it had been very dark so he couldn't have seen it. And he'd been much more concerned for House's life than his cane.

"I'm sorry House… I didn't bring it here so I guess it's lost…" House scowled and slumped back down, "Great. Now I have to stay here. Unless you can stop being an ass and get me a spare cane." Chase continued to look at him, and was tempted to tell him that he was the one being an ass because Chase had saved him, but decided against it. House didn't need more stress. He suddenly remembered what had just happened; House was awake! He had to tall the others. He paged Cameron, Foreman, Wilson and Cuddy, and turned back to House. "You're being annoying okay? We were all really worried." House scoffed at him; "What for? I'm _fine_." Before Chase could answer, four people came storming in.

"House!" Cuddy exclaimed, rather loudly, and the man in question covered his ears with his palms. "That's it; scream at me! Maybe cripple my ears, too." He groaned, but Cuddy didn't care. She slumped down next to him and stared at him, "When did he wake up?" She asked Chase. House answered for him. "Ten minutes ago – but he's been keeping me all to himself hasn't he, selfish little bastard." Chase scowled, "No, I called you right away." He told her, bending the truth a little. It hadn't actually been ten minutes, but close to. The three other doctors came closer, but they all stayed silent, looking at House, who got annoyed; "What? What are you waiting for? Want me to thank you or something?"

"You should thank Chase; he's the one who found you." Wilson told him, even though everyone more or less knew what House's answer to that would be. "I don't need to thank anyone." He observed, crossing his arms, "And I'm fine. So as soon as I get a new cane, I can get out of here right?"

Cameron frowned, "Aren't you worried? You were in a coma." She told him. "Yeah, yeah I know okay? And I told Chase everything. I got drunk, fell and bumped my head. Nothing more to it." Cameron's worried look didn't falter, "You had a concussion, House. You're not ready to be moving around so soon. We did an MRI on you but we found nothing of concern, therefore –" House interrupted her with an attempt at imitating her voice, "Therefore you are fine and you can go home." Cuddy suddenly glared at him, "No, you're going to stay here and you're going to tell us what really happened. We did some tests on you and we found Methadone in your system. _Methadone_,House!"

House smirked, "Isn't it amazing how she can go from mourning widow mode to angry bitch mode in less than two seconds?" He asked everyone else, who just sighed, but waited for him to go on, "And, I repeat for the last time, that I am fine! I fell down and bumped my head. End of story. And the Methadone was irrelevant." He sighed, "I… I've been taking it for a while now… It helps a lot more than Vicodin with my pain, but I'm _careful_ alright? I didn't tell you because I knew you'd be like this. I admit to everything alright? I took LSD; I tried some other drugs and decided on Methadone in the end."

A short silence followed and Cuddy opened her mouth, no doubt to try and reason with House, but he interrupted her; "And you won't get me off it. It's either I take that or heroin. Okay?" The conversation being officially over, Cuddy stood up defeated, knowing they wouldn't get him to explain anything more, and told him, "Well at any rate, you're going to need rest and analgesics for your headache. (Wow, she can read minds too! House said) And maybe paracetamol to take care of any intracranial bleeding you might have that we didn't see." With that, she left and Wilson hastily put House on the medication.

"Did you manage to do anything useful without me?" House inquired as his ducklings sat next to him while Wilson arranged his tubes. Foreman smirked, "Yeah, we solved a whole case without you. How's that?" House faked a surprised expression; "Wow, really? One whole case? Oh, you three are just too good!" He wiped a nonexistent tear with his finger, "You're making mommy so proud!" He told them and Cameron smiled. "You can keep on scoffing but you'll be disappointed to know that the patient was a model." House's grin indeed faded, but he just smirked and remained silent. "Aww, he's jealous." Chase remarked with a smile, which House did not return. He looked in pain. "House?" Cameron inquired and he turned to her.

"It hurts. Nothing too bad…" Wilson finished administrating all the medication and sat down too. "You won't feel a thing in a few minutes… And you could heal much faster if you would just tell us what happened to you." House coughed, "I did tell you." He said stubbornly. The three other doctors exchanged dubious looks but didn't press him for further explanations. Cameron, Foreman and Wilson eventually got tired of listening to him moaning about his leg pain – which was just to annoy them because he really couldn't feel any pain with the analgesics he'd been given – and they left. Chase stayed there, staring at his boss distantly. House stopped tossing and looked at him. "What?"

Chase stayed silent a moment, cleared his throat and said; "I saved your life." He decided to be as blunt as he could about this. House smirked, "You point being? You want me to shower you in flowers?" Chase shook his head, smiling suddenly, which caught House off-guard, "No. I wanted you to admit it. And you just did." House gave him a blank look then muttered, "Damn…" while looking away quickly. Chase smirked, "You know… the first night you were in here… I didn't go home. I stayed here with you for fourteen hours, just hoping you would wake up." Chase didn't know why he was telling this to House, because it clearly had no effect on him. "So? It only makes you an idiot." House told him, still keeping his gaze on the ceiling. Chase nodded, "Yeah. It does." Silence ensued, and House began to hum. Chase got up and made to leave, but he turned to look at House again before stepping out of the room. "Are you sure there's nothing you want to say?"

House's head turned and he looked up at him, "Yeah, I'm sure there's nothing I want to tell you." Chase nodded and left, closing the door behind him. He wasn't sure what that had meant… Was House saying that there was actually something more to his story but he just didn't want to say it, or what there really nothing more to tell?

Well, in any case, there was no way they'd get him to tell them anything he didn't want them to know, so he could forget that. It's just that he didn't feel comfortable not knowing if House was keeping something from them. He knew House wouldn't be so stupid as to hide something that would be medically relevant, at least not to Cuddy or Wilson. Maybe he just didn't want to tell Chase. Even if that was reasonably normal, Chase felt left out. He'd saved House's _life_. Even if House didn't give the impression that it mattered to him, Chase knew he had to be grateful. Somehow, House owed him, right?

----

The next week was incredible tiresome. They were reduced to holding differential diagnosis's in House's hospital room. House kept stating he was fine, but Cuddy insisted that he stay put because he needed bed rest. And to prevent him from getting up, she had refused to get him a cane. House had ranted at first, but seemed to be getting used to everything happening with him stuck in a bed. But they still managed to save their patient, who was dying from a failing heart, by getting a man whose wife had just died in a car accident to give her heart to them.

The good thing was that the week was now over, and so was House's bed rest sentence. He'd agreed to stay in the room for no more than a week, so Cuddy had now gotten him a new cane, which was plain and black but not as nice and fancy as his old brown one had been. Nonetheless, House was happy to get out of here so he took it and stood up, wincing. Everyone watched as he took a few steps and sighed, "My legs are clammy." He declared, stopping to massage his thigh. Wilson smirked, "Well, you've been lying in a bed for nearly two weeks, it's kind of normal." House nodded slowly, but proceeded to walk out of the room. The work day was over for everyone so they all left to finish off their occupations and House asked Wilson for a ride home, seeing as his motorcycle was at his apartment. Wilson agreed and they were off.

Chase was finally done dealing with their paperwork for the heart transplant they had just done on their patient and left the hospital too. He climbed in his car and drove off. It had been a very exhausting week, but hopefully, next week everything would be back to normal. They still hadn't questioned House further about his trauma, but he was completely healed. It seemed his coma hadn't been as bad as they thought. He'd reacted well to all his medication and hadn't sustained any major cranial injuries, or minor for that matter.

Chase was searching through some radio stations when he heard someone outside honking, followed by a loud crashing sound. He looked up and saw that there was a jam up ahead on the road. Some idiot had bumped into a telephone pole, causing it to fall down onto another car's windshield. The accident was merely twenty feet away from him so he could clearly see what was going on. Thankfully, no one looked hurt; a woman and her two children were coming out of the car, looking frightened, but with no apparent injuries. Thankfully, the kids had not been sitting in the front seat. Chase looked further and tried to see who had crashed into the pole, but he couldn't see any other damaged cars.

That's when he spotted it – a crashed motorcycle on the side of the road. And it was on fire. That's when he saw the accident was worse than he'd speculated: The telephone pole had caught the crashed car's motor on fire and it had spread onto the motorcycle, which was currently being consumed by the flames. Chase squinted and his heart sank as he recognized the motorbike. It was orange. It was House's.

Chase immediately opened the door of his car and ran towards the scene of the accident. People had started to gather around and someone was calling 911 on her cell phone. Chase bumped a few people out of the way and approached House's bike. It was lying on the side, with House trapped underneath it, unconscious. Chase didn't stop to think, but threw the motorcycle off his boss quickly; it burnt his hands and he had no idea where the strength to do it had come from but he somehow managed to get House away from the fire and rip of his leather coat, which was burning. Luckily, the fire had not spread onto House's body. Someone shouted out to him, in a concerned voice; "What are you doing?! You're crazy!!" Chase ignored him and proceeded to check House's pulse. He needed CPR.

He proceeded to reanimate him and just as he had finished, the ambulances arrived. Chase stood and showed them his medical card; "Dr Robert Chase at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital. Take this man over there. And you'd better take these people along too." He told them, motioning for the woman and her two children to come forwards.

One of the kids was crying and the woman was holding the other one, which was much younger, in her arms despite the nasty scratch she had. The paramedics nodded and did what he'd said. Chase went back to his car and turned around in direction of the hospital, closely following the two ambulances and sighed, wondering how the hell House had managed to get himself in this mess.


	3. Insanity

Alright, some of you said you were confused about what was going on. That's okay, it's what I want! Mwahahaa. Okay so seriously, it's meant to be confusing, m'kay? So it's okay. Um… still don't own House, or any of the characters!

**Chapter Three**

**Insanity**

----

It had been at least half an hour, but there was still no news from the emergency room nurses. Chase had run into Cuddy when he'd gotten to the hospital; she'd been leaving but as soon as Chase told her what was going on, she turned around and followed him to the emergency waiting room. They were waiting impatiently, too tense to talk, when a nurse arrived and spotted Chase. "Mr. Chase?" She asked and he stood up, followed swiftly by Cuddy. The nurse smiled, "Dr House will be fine. He has several burns on his upper body but none are too serious. You can visit him now. He's still unconscious but we can't wake him up until we've sorted out his burns." Chase and Cuddy nodded, following the nurse into House's new room.

He was lying on his back without a shirt with many nurses around him, attending to his burns. They covered nearly his whole chest area as well as his right shoulder, all the way down to his right elbow. Chase sighed and turned to Cuddy, hugging her when he saw her cover her face with her hands. Chase knew how much House meant to her, even if she never divulged it; she cared about the cripple a lot. "He's going to get out of this…" Chase reassured her. She sniffed; "Yeah… thanks Chase…" The Australian rubbed her back warmly as he felt a tear fall on the skin of his neck. "It'll be alright." He told her firmly and he felt her nod.

She drew back and wiped her eyes on her arm, "Yes." She agreed, "I know." They looked back at House, who was horribly pale, but his burns were looking less awful by the minute. Eventually, the nurses changed him into hospital robes and his bed was placed in a room. It was exactly the same as the one he'd just left not two hours ago and Chase was thinking he wouldn't be too happy when he woke up. He was tempted to leave and go home, but he didn't think he'd be able to sleep and he'd saved his life _again_; he had to stay here to know if he'd be okay. Cuddy decided she would stay too and they sat down next to the bed, staring at House.

"I'm going to have to buy him another cane right?" She asked with a slight smile. Chase chuckled, "Yeah. I didn't bring it back this time either. It must have burned though; his whole bike was on fire." Cuddy shook her head sadly, then furrowed a brow and turned her gaze on him, "He's got a bump on his forehead… wasn't he wearing a helmet?" Chase frowned while trying to think back. He hadn't seen a helmet anywhere…

"Maybe it just fell off?" He supposed and Cuddy bit her lip, turning to watch House again. They didn't talk anymore after that and both fell asleep on their chairs.

Only to be awoken by the ringing of a cell phone at eleven o' clock. Cuddy fumbled tiredly in her purse and took it out. "It's Wilson…" She said before answering, "Hi. What's wrong? – Oh, god Wilson I'm so sorry…! – Yeah, I apologize for not calling you but House is back at the hospital. He had a motorcycle accident… No, he's going to be fine, just some minor burns… Yes, I think you'd better come over here if you've got nowhere else… Good. We're in room 204. Okay see you. Bye."

She closed her phone and stored it away. She stayed silent a few seconds, then; "Wilson's wife just kicked him out… He wanted to stay at House's but found he wasn't there…" Chase nodded. This whole situation was just awful; how the hell could this have happened? It wasn't that easy to crash into a telephone pole like that… Unless he'd suffered some brain damage they hadn't noticed from his trauma and he'd had a problem while driving, Chase couldn't see how else House could have driven strait into a thick twenty foot metal pole.

Wilson arrived shortly and came to sit with them, looking devastated. He threw his arms into the air quite a few times, pacing helplessly around the room, before calming down a bit, gaping silently. Cuddy patted him on the back and he closed his eyes tight, as if he thought the world would disappear if he couldn't see it.

After a while, he opened them again to stare at Chase, "You saved his life? Again?" Chase nodded. "It's such a coincidence though… I mean, I could have been anywhere else at that moment, I could have seen the traffic and decided to take a different route, I –" Wilson shook his head, "I know he'll be grateful to you. He won't show it in any way, but he owes his life to you twice now and he knows it." Chase bit his lip and didn't reply, merely shrugging.

They fell asleep once more, but were awoken by a shriek of pain two hours later. They jumped out of their skins and stood up, walking up closer to House's bed, where he was breathing heavily, eyes wide and sweating all over. His eyes rolled around madly as he tried to see where he was and attempted to deal with the pain. Chase got some analgesic to give him from the drawer and fed it through a tube – just enough so he wouldn't be in as much pain but remain conscious. His breathing lessened and he coughed a bit. "Shit…" He seethed, "_Shit_… Where the hell –?"

"House, you had a bike accident." Cuddy told him. "If you're in too much pain, we'll have to put you back to sleep." House swore under his breath and hissed, "Don't you think I know I had a bike accident? Damn it…"

"You're going to be fine." Chase assured him, "You've only got a few minor burns. It hurts right now, but you'll heal quickly enough." The cripple turned his head to the side and took several deep breaths, like he was trying not to shout at him. In the end, he looked back at them and grumbled; "I wasn't supposed to live."

Chase shook his head furiously; "No, don't say that. You got out of the coma, now you got out of a bike accident… You're meant to live!" House laughed slightly, "I had to die…" He said rather unintelligibly, "He killed me. I shouldn't be alive…" Wilson got some more analgesic, "He's delirious: we should put him back to sleep. At least until his burns heal." Cuddy and Chase agreed with a short nod and Wilson pushed more medicine into House's tube. They watched him drift back into unconsciousness before sitting back down.

Cuddy moaned worriedly and said, "You really think he was delirious? He seemed pretty conscious…" Wilson's expression turned worried too, "Well, yeah. Why else would he say he's not supposed to live?" It appeared Cuddy had no answer to that because she said nothing, burying her face in her hands and leaning her elbows on her knees. Chase stared at House and said, "Maybe because he had the accident on purpose." He suggested, and Cuddy looked up at him in horror; "No! He… he wouldn't do that!" And she looked at Wilson, who didn't say anything, just looking at his friend mournfully.

"I don't know." He whispered. The other two just exhaled noisily and leant back on their chairs, hopefully to get some more sleep before it was time to go work. That time came all too soon, as the door slid open and Cameron walked in. Chase looked around at the groggily and she stopped in her tracks, staring at House. "A nurse told me you were here, so I figured there was a patient… Oh god, what happened this time?" She asked, pacing up to them hastily and looking at House up and down. "Bike accident." Cuddy mumbled as she woke up too. Wilson yawned and scratched his eyes, "They said he'll be okay. There's nothing to worry too much about. He's got a few burns."

Cameron put on her concerned face but didn't say anything, waiting for Chase to follow her to the conference room. When they got there, they found Foreman. "Good morning," He said, "Feels good to be having differentials back in this room again doesn't it?" Chase smirked and waited until Cameron was sitting before saying, "Tough luck. House got into a bike accident last night. He's in a room again – he's got no major injuries, but they have to take care of his burns before they can release him. There was a fire." Foreman stared, "You serious?"

"No; House asked me and Cameron to help him pull this little joke on you. Of course, I'm serious!" Foreman threw him a less than amused expression but sat down with his coffee silently. Chase sighed, "Cuddy said we can wait for him to get better before working on another case. She'll page us when they wake him up." He explained and sat to do some crosswords.

They stayed there nearly all day, only going down to get lunch once before returning to do nothing. Foreman spent his time sorting through some much needed to do paperwork, Chase had time to do seven crosswords and Cameron kept leaving to 'visit some patients', which both men understood to be an excuse for going to see the children in the oncology department. They knew how much she loved playing with those kids, and how much they enjoyed her company but she never wanted to talk about it. That was her being overly emotional, everyone assumed.

Their pagers rang at a quarter past six and they all rushed down to House's room. Cuddy and Wilson were already there. "How's the pain?" Cuddy was currently asking the cripple, who shrugged. "Not so bad."

Cuddy examined the clipboard which had House's file on it, "Minor second-degree burns on less than 10% of your body… Not too bad, but if Dr Chase hadn't gotten you out from under your motorcycle, you could have had burns much worse than these." She observed, putting the file down and waiting for House to say something. "Great. Now I won't be able to wear short sleeves." House grunted as he looked at his arm. Wilson sighed, "It'll heal and with time, it'll be less bad-looking. The blisters will disappear and your skin will look quite normal again. You should be grateful you didn't turn out any worse than you did." House mumbled something incoherent, and Cuddy went on for Wilson, "You'll have to stay here for at least another two days."

House groaned and sat up straighter. "Right. So you don't have anything to worry about, kay? Just… get out of here. Leave me alone." They nodded, exchanging looks and made to leave. Wilson cleared his throat, "I'll stay House, I need to talk to you." He gestured for the others to leave and they did. He sat down, twiddling his thumbs nervously. "Listen… I know you must still be in shock from your accident but I need a favor. My wife dumped me and…" House's eyes widened, "So you need a place to stay?" At Wilson's nod, he said, "Okay fine. The key's in my wallet...." Wilson gave him an appreciative smile and searched through House's jeans that were on the floor and got the key from his wallet. "Have a good rest House." On that note, he left him alone.

The cripple growled softly and set his head back onto the pillows. He pretended to sleep when the nurse came to lower the lights so he could sleep. As soon as she had gone, he opened his eyes and looked around. There must be some morphine somewhere he could use.

He got up with difficulty and limped carefully over to the set of drawers facing the bed. He rummaged frantically through them and groaned. Of _course _there was no morphine in here… Doctors didn't want people to play around with it. Well, it would be difficult to obtain, so he'd have to do with something else. Damn Chase and his… _helpfulness_… If only he hadn't saved him from that crash; he'd be dead already. He would surely have died from any burns more serious than these if he hadn't been saved before the ambulance arrived.

Given, it hadn't been his first choice of suicide – he'd been thinking about killing himself ever since… that night. He didn't want to think about it and neither did he want to remember it. Because it was the cause for all this and if only he hadn't been so _stupid_; none of this would ever have happened. He had been supposed to die from that concussion… But Chase had saved him. And then he'd been supposed to die from the bike crash… again he plan was foiled by Chase's meddling.

He kept poking around in that drawer for a while and sighed. There was nothing in here that would be strong enough, and he didn't have enough Vicodin left in his bottle to overdose on it. So he limped relentlessly back to his bed and lay down, waiting for things to calm down in the hospital. It would have to wait.

Time passed by so slowly when you were just waiting to die. His concussion seemed so far away already. It had been a whole week since he'd woken up, but it seemed like months. He's only waited to do this because he'd been interested in the case, if only vaguely, and he honestly had not been sure if he really did want to die. It had taken him a week to decide damn it, and when he'd been ready at last; Chase had to go and save him. Idiot.

He noticed the lights were dimmed outside and there were scarcely any people left, so he got up again and shuffled to the door, opened it and looked outside. He saw the janitor over at the other end of the corridor washing the floor. He whistled and the old man looked up. He limped his way to him, the janitor looking at him strangely and said; "Listen… My leg hurts, and my nurse left… They don't want to give me any more medication, but it really hurts so much. I was in a fire." He explained, pulling down the rim of his shirt to show the man his nasty burns. "Could I borrow your keys to get some more Vicodin?" He shuffled the bottle, which he had just emptied on his nightstand, and the janitor smirked. House knew at once it had worked.

"I really shouldn't be doing this…" He muttered as he took out his mass of keys and handed House the one for the medication stash closet. House smiled gratefully, feigning a wince of pain as he turned around and took the elevator to the medication supply room. Once he was there, he quickly found the morphine. He took a couple of boxes and took them to his room quickly, not keen on running into anyone. Once he'd hidden them under the bed in case someone came in, he went to return the key to the janitor. It was a good thing that he was crippled in these kinds of situations, really. Of course, it wasn't every day he needed to die, but still.

Fortunately, no one had noticed he had left his bed because no one had been in his room. He grabbed a syringe from a drawer and filled it with morphine, hovering it over his arm for a second, before sticking the needle in. After only a few seconds he began to feel dizzy, which was normal for the high dosage he'd just given himself. Though he knew it hadn't been nearly enough to be fatal. If he could only manage to give himself a few other shots… His mouth was dry and his skin itched as he filled the needle a second time, but he knew these were normal symptoms and all part of the procedure. His vision blurred for a second but he managed to stay focused as he lifted the syringe to prick his arm again –

And holy shit; the door opened. He was too groggy to react in time so he vaguely looked up. It was Chase. The Australian flicked on the light and House dropped the needle. "Figured as much…" The blond doctor said as he approached. House glared at him, swore and picked up the needle, "Why are you still here?" Chase shook his head. "I stayed to do some clinic duty. But that's not all. I was worried that you were going to kill yourself because of what you said the first time you woke up after the fire. Do you remember?" House hung his head, and nodded. "You figured it out with only that?"

Chase nodded. "Wilson said you were being delusional… But I reckoned you weren't. You seemed perfectly aware of what was going on." House scowled at him. "What's it matter to you anyway?" He asked grumpily, knowing that it was no good to try and hide his intentions any longer.

"You tried to kill yourself with that crash…" Chase deduced, "But that concussion wasn't a suicide attempt was it?" House looked up at him with contempt; "Oh this is fun. Since when did my life become twenty questions?" Chase sighed and sat down next to him, "Only you could act so unruffled when being found about to kill himself with morphine. Give me that!" He snatched the needle out of House's hand as he saw it twitch dangerously over the older man's wrist, threatening to be injected. House scowled, "Will you give that back to me, right now! I'll listen to all your bla-bla on how life's worth being lived and stuff and _then_, I'll inject myself with morphine and die. Deal?" he held out his hand for Chase to shake, but the blond doctor shook his head in disbelief.

"How can you be so cool about this? You're going to kill yourself and… that's it? You're just prepared for it to end?" House grinned, "Yes, even in impending death, I am unbelievably cool! I just wish I had my iPod right now so I could listen to one last song while I die." He sighed happily, "Maybe _Come As You Are _by Nirvana… wouldn't that be fitting? Yeah, I'd like that – would you go upstairs and get it for me? I promise I won't kill myself in the meantime!"

Chase glowered at his mentor, "Are you high…?" He asserted, shaking his head slowly. House smirked and crossed his arms; "Kind of… I just injected myself with a high dose of Morphine; but carry on; I'll try to concentrate just for you. Wondering what to do now? Okay sure, you've figured out I want to die, but now you're wondering if you should tell anyone and you don't want to leave me here for fear that I'll go ahead and inject that morphine so I can just kick the bucket already!" House ended his declaration in a slightly irritated voice and Chase flinched.

"Was that British way of saying 'to die' meant to annoy me?" Chase asked rather coolly, referring to House's numerous accusations of Chase being British, which made the cripple smirk, "Kind of. But anyway, I still have to die." Chase still could not comprehend how House was so calm about all this. "But why? I know you probably won't tell me… But what could have happened that would make you want to die?"

"The fact that you're sitting with me discussing my reasons instead of calling Cuddy is rather perturbing, but I like it, go on with your speculations, please." House countered, making Chase grit his teeth; "You're avoiding the question House." To which House said, "I am not, I'm merely asking you to expand on your allegation. Don't blame me! You're the one sitting with me… trying to reason with a cripple high on Morphine." Chase frowned; "Okay… well something traumatic must have happened…" He supposed and House smiled. "Yeah. Morphine now please." Chase sighed and threw the syringe in the bin.

"Either you're going to tell me and… I'll see what I can do or something, or I call Cuddy. I just want to help you." Chase told House as he stood up and took out his cell phone. House bit his lip, and remained silent. Chase raised his eyebrows, but House still did not speak. Chase gave him a sad look, "I don't want to have to do this to you."

"Then don't." House answered simply. Chase threw his arms in the air frantically, "I don't want you to die!" he countered and House shrugged, "Then call Cuddy." Chase's shoulders drooped and he guessed it was final because House lay back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed. Chase wished he could just leave and pretend he had never found House doing this. But he would never be able to live with his guilt. He remembered how guilty he'd felt for not calling Cuddy sooner the first time he'd found House, lying in that alley, so he didn't dare imagine what he would do to himself if he let House kill himself.

So he finally decided on doing the sensible thing he knew House would hate him for; he opened his cell phone and slowly composed Cuddy's number, pausing after every button was pressed and holding his breath. The dial tone rang fours, five, six, seven times and he fell on Cuddy's voicemail. He couldn't bring himself to leave a message so he hung up before the beep. He didn't know what he could have said anyway. '_Hi Cuddy, this is Chase. Yeah, I just found House about to kill himself with Morphine… Could you come here to try and rationalize with him or something?_' No that wouldn't do, he'd have to tell her in person.

House turned his head, "She wasn't there?" Chase put his phone back in his pocket and came to sit on the bed, "She must have run out of batteries… I dunno…" House nodded. "So what do we do know? You're not going to stay here all night to watch over me are you?" Chase smirked, "Might as well." He answered and House grinned. "I can wait." He affirmed, making the blond frown at him. "This isn't nothing House! This is your life you're talking about!"

"My point exactly." Was House's reply and Chase stopped. "You mean… that your life is worth nothing to you?" He asked incredulously and House didn't answer. "You're annoying me. Either leave me alone and go to sleep or something, but just shut up." Chase complied, but forced himself not to go to sleep. He knew what House would do if he did. So he sat there and watched House, who was lying with his eyes shut, his chest slowly rising and falling. Chase wasn't sure if the older man was sleeping, but it didn't matter much – as long as he didn't fall asleep, everything would be okay.

He managed to stay awake, and knew that House was sleeping when the latter started to mumble things under his breath. Chase leaned in to listen – maybe it was related to his trauma. But he wasn't saying much, in fact, he was basically moaning of protest, twitching slightly. It couldn't be clearer that he was having a nightmare. Chase figured he shouldn't let him suffer through this and shook his slightly, "House… House, wake up." After several seconds, said cripple lifted up his head and squinted at him, the light burning his eyes.

"What…?" He mumbled irritably. "You were having a nightmare." Chase told him, but House didn't answer, lying back down and humming slightly. Chase watched him fall back to sleep and this time his sleep was uneventful. Chase wondered what Cuddy would do when she found out House was suicidal. He was also a little surprised that House hadn't attacked him when he'd taken away his morphine. It couldn't be just because he was high, could it? Maybe he'd wanted to die, but now he was having second thoughts?

The night was extraordinarily long and Chase was starting to wish Cuddy would arrive soon. He was moments away from trying to call her again, when the door opened and Cuddy herself came in. She stopped when she saw him, "Chase? What are you doing here?" Chase didn't answer immediately, but checked the time; it was nearly seven, so he'd been sitting here for six hours. He got up and resisted the urge to rub his butt – it was aching of numbness from sitting motionlessly for six hours strait. In fact, his whole body screamed in protest as he stood up and walked up to Cuddy. "I…" He began, but couldn't seem to bring himself to say it. He felt so bad for House, but he knew he couldn't keep it to himself. So he gulped and continued, "I… I came in here after you'd all left because I'd been doing clinic duty and I decided to check on House and, um… I found him injecting himself with Morphine." He decided to bend the truth a bit, "He was high… He said he wanted to die, but he didn't try to stop me from taking the syringe away. And then he fell asleep."

Cuddy stared and went to House. She checked him over for a few moments then she said, "Well, his high must be over now right? I'm waking him up." True to her words, she shook House brusquely and he groaned before opening her eyes, squinting. "House wake up, we have to talk." Cuddy commanded and he sat up, crawling away from her, "What? Geez – that hurts!" He shouted, pushing her hand away from his burn shoulder. She let go of him but lingered her harsh gaze on him, placing her hands on her hips.

House scowled, "What now?" Cuddy rubbed her eyes tiredly with one hand and put it down with a slap on her leg, "You tried to kill yourself." She declared, making sure House could not mistake it as a question. Indeed, the cripple threw his blond employee a dirty look and smirked, "So?"

Cuddy snickered sardonically. "_So? _What do you mean so? This isn't funny House, if you want to die… there must be a very good reason. And you should tell someone. We'll help you!" She told him rather softly, but House shook his head, looking livid, and screamed; "No! You don't want to help me; you want me to tell you because if I die right now, you'll never know what was wrong! You need to know because… that's just how people are. They always have to know everything about their friends, or family, or… But there are things that just can't be told!" Cuddy stared in shock at him, but lost no time in making her decision.

"I'm giving you one last chance, House. You're not going to kill yourself. We won't let you." House scowled, "One last chance to tell you… or else what? You can't _force_ me." Cuddy smirked: "Shows what you know." House threw her a daring look and she sighed, "I can't force you but… I can put you in therapy – I can get you a room in the Psych Ward…" There was a horrible silence and the cripple's jaw dropped. "You wouldn't!" He accused, and Cuddy smiled, "I'm afraid I would." She finalized, before walking out. House looked at Chase and winked, "She won't."

But she did. Cuddy returned with four nurses and it took everybody's collaboration to get House onto a stretcher and carry him to the Psych Ward in the East Wing, but they finally had the cripple tied up so that he wouldn't hurt himself. They got him a large room, though empty safe for a bed made of nothing but plastic. There was no way he'd be able to kill himself in there except bang his head repeatedly on the wall until it cracked open. Which was practically impossible.

Chase had never really been in the Psych Ward before, except for the overall visit of the PPTH he'd received when he'd been hired. It was gloomy, but very clean. It was almost like a different hospital. It gave Chase shivers. He hated it.

He hated everyone for doing this to House, particularly Cuddy. But also himself, because if he hadn't discovered House, the latter wouldn't be trapped in there. Although House would be dead if Chase had not walked in on him, and that was worse right? He didn't know what was worse – House dying or House spending the rest of his days in a Psych Ward. It was unlikely Cuddy was intending on keeping him in there for ever, but there was a high chance House would go actually crazy if he stayed there even for a little while. That is; if he wasn't already traumatized.

He'd seemed perfectly normal when he'd woken up from his coma. But he wasn't looking so normal right now as Chase heard him bang on the door, the sound slightly muffled by the thickness of the walls. He couldn't help but wonder if House had really gone nuts, and if therapy would help him at all. He honestly didn't think so. All House needed was a friend to talk to.

After they took care of everything for House, Chase followed Cuddy to Wilson's office, and she knocked lightly before entering. He was shuffling some papers around but stopped when they entered, looking up at both of them. "I'm guessing this is pretty important?" He asked, putting down his work. Cuddy went to sit down and leaned on his desk. "It's House… He tried to kill himself. With Morphine." Wilson looked incredibly taken aback, but Cuddy didn't leave him any time to comment on the situation. "I scheduled him for therapy and got him a room in the East Wing." She told him seriously. The oncologist's mouth hung open for a moment before he noticed and shut it hastily, only to open it again to speak; "But… he – you think he's a got a psychological problem?" At Cuddy's nod, he rubbed the back of his neck nervously and returned her nod. "Okay well… we'll have to see won't we? He was probably very reluctant."

He was shot a slight smirk from the Dean of Medicine. "We had to tie him up." Wilson didn't respond, staring at her and she left the room, establishing that the conversation was over. Chase didn't have anything to say, so he turned to leave too but was stopped when Wilson asked; "What do you think about this Chase?" He stayed there staring at Wilson's door for a second and shrugged. "I think Cuddy did what she thought was best on the medical plan." He said in a colorless voice, before turning the handle and leaving.

Because it was true; therapy could only do some good for normal people. But everyone knew how stubborn House was. That man would rather die than be put in therapy of any sort. The proof of that was his leg. He preferred to live alone in his pain than try to recover with help. Anyone else who didn't know House would have done the same thing. But Cuddy knew what House was like, so she must have a deeper motive. Maybe she was just too tired of coping with him? No, that was just cruel. It probably killed her to do this to House too, but she found no other solution. Chase had to admit there was little else that could be done. He hated the fact that Wilson hadn't objected to this in any way. Was Chase the only person who saw the wrong to this?

He walked his way slowly to the conference room, not really looking where he was going, but it seemed like his legs had memorized the way because they led him strait to it without him having to think about it. Foreman was making coffee and Cameron was sitting at the table, drumming the tabletop with Chase's crossword pencil. She immediately looked up at him; "What's going on? Why are you so late?" Chase found he couldn't talk. There was a dry lump in his throat. So he gave her a miserable look and sat down in front of her. She frowned, "Are you okay?" After another few seconds of silence, she asked lowly; "Is it House? What happened?" Chase coughed, but it only made the gritty feeling in his throat worse. He managed to say, "He tried to kill himself."

He heard Foreman behind him drop a spoon, it fell with a clang on the counter, and Cameron stared at him. He explained hastily, appalled at how brittle his voice sounded, "With Morphine. But we stopped him and… Cuddy got him a room in the Psych Ward." He avoided Cameron's gaze, staring instead at the pencil she was holding. She had stopped playing with it, but was holding onto it like her life depended on it. "In the Psych Ward?" Foreman repeated, "Is he going to have therapy, like?" Chase nodded. Foreman came to sit down too, and none of them spoke for a while, too shocked and feeling terrible.

After a while, Cuddy came in to explain the situation. "I guess Chase told you?" She assumed by their miserable faces. They nodded shortly and she sighed, "House will undergo some therapy and hopefully we'll be able to find out what happened to him. We're also going to take him off the Methadone he was taking because it causes suicidal symptoms. In the meantime, I expect you three to keep working hard without him, like you did two weeks ago. I hope that case proved to you that you're able to do without House." The three doctors didn't reply. Chase hung his head slowly and Cuddy gave them one last comforting look before she left them, "I'll get you a case soon enough. Maybe you should take today off."

Cameron seemed more than ready to take the day off; as soon as Cuddy was gone, she started to gather her things in her bag and took off her lab coat. "Well, see you then…" She told the two men before parting ways with them too. Foreman sighed and resolutely stayed sitting for a couple of minutes before he decided he'd better leave as well. With both his colleagues gone, Chase had no one left to talk to and decided he would be better off at home.

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A/N – Okay, I know this is probably pretty confusing. Hopefully, this chapter cleared some things up a bit. And I'm thinking that this story will probably be around ten chapters long, so it's really not over yet! You'll see! Byee.


	4. Wrong

I'm sorry for the rather longer wait for this chapter. I was busy with Easter and stuff. So I figured I'd make it a little longer than I had planned to compensate, m'kay?

Still don't own House, M.D., though I still wish I did, and thanks to all the lovely reviewers! Also to the people who read and did not review, I like you too :)

**Chapter Four**

**Wrong**

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The next two weeks were some of the most horrible Chase had ever had to go through. They had solved one case last week, that of a seemingly happy married couple. It turned out that the wife had been poisoning her husband with gold. It was by chance that they had found out, catching her sprinkling it over his food while the latter was sleeping. They'd had her arrested and the man would be okay now. But this week they had had a teenage girl who was immuno-compromised and she had died while they tried to figure out what was wrong with her. They managed to prove it was not their fault when the autopsy revealed she had a tick on her body, injecting venom into her bloodstream. The parents finally had to agree they had nothing to do with her death.

Nonetheless, they had lost a patient. Chase thought that was some proof that they still needed House. And every time they asked Cuddy how their boss was doing, she would reply something along the lines of, "We'll keep trying." Which Chase took as, 'He's trying to kill us', or 'He won't let anyone approach him unless armed with a twenty-foot pole'. He smirked; Chase had known House would be resentful to therapy. But why was Cuddy so charred on forcing him into it?

He always felt like he wanted to shout at her that she was being cruel, but something always stopped him from getting it out. The words always stayed stuck because he didn't want to hurt her. He knew that under the tough impression she gave herself, she was actually fragile and it hurt her a lot to do this to House. He could feel it; she was tired of doing this.

So the days passed and Chase forced himself to keep going on. He knew he would crack soon. How soon, he didn't know, but he also wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. A distraction soon came: the hospital was holding a charity casino night. It felt great to be allowed to drift off for one night and think about other things than medicine. Chase quickly got himself some Champaign and started flirting. It was the only thing he could think of that would keep him from going crazy. He wasn't any good at poker, or blackjack or anything really, so he just mooched around, talking to various people and/or women who looked like they would be interested.

Of course, he wasn't very well known since it hadn't been a long time since he was in America. So it was easy to talk with other people but the conversations rapidly got repetitive. People would ask him where he came from, why he'd moved here, if he enjoyed it here… and the list went on. But nobody seemed too interested in him.

The lobby was packed with people, and it was kind of hard to move around. He made his way through all the doctors with difficulty, finally getting away from the curious females that had crowded around him a while ago. He had managed to lose them, a little scared by them. Looking around, he saw Wilson and Cuddy playing poker with some other doctors from the PPTH but also some from other hospitals, Cameron was talking with some friends and Foreman was sitting at the bar alone. Chase went to join him, and he turned his head briefly to look at him, then went on looking strait in front of him.

"Hi." Chase said, rather lamely as he sat down and asked for another glass of Champaign. Foreman smiled, "Bored?" He assumed, taking a sip of his drink. Chase smiled back. "Yeah. I don't know anyone, and I'm not any good at gambling." Foreman chuckled, "I'm not so bad, but I don't feel like playing much tonight." He laughed quietly again, "House would have forced us to play." Chase forced himself not to grumble; of course, he should have known the conversation would turn to House. He strained a smile. "Yeah. He would have… and we'd have lost loads of money because we'd have taken the challenge." Foreman nodded slowly and took another drink.

Chase scratched his neck, wondering what the hell else he could do. He could see Foreman probably wanted to be alone, and he didn't want to disturb Cameron in front of her friends… And poor House… stuck in a Psych Ward room up there, all alone…

That's when it hit him. There was nearly no surveillance in the hospital, most people were down here having fun gambling. He downed his glass of Champaign, set it down on the table, smiling slightly and said bye to Foreman. Then he went back into the hospital, where, as he'd suspected, the halls were empty. There were a few nurses still at work, but that was all. He loosened his tie, and took the elevator to the third floor, crossing over to the East Wing. There was someone at the reception, and she looked up from her computer as he walked to the desk. "Can I help you?" She asked, and he noticed her blush slightly as she took in his appearance.

He smiled, knowing that she wouldn't suspect anything. He had caught sight of himself in a mirror sometime between the lobby and the East Wing, and he knew how attractive he looked in his black suit. "Yeah, listen… I really have to visit someone in here. He's awfully lonely." He said with his best Australian accent. She gave him an understanding nod, still boring strait into his blue-green eyes. "Gregory House." He told her and she typed it in. "Okay, that's room 408." She showed him on the map on the wall next to her and handed him a key. He smiled again, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone," He told the girl with a sad expression, "Family problems you know?" She gazed at him, wide-eyed, "Of course." He nodded appreciatively and left to find House's room.

He was rather proud of himself for his ruse. He knew it was wrong to have done that to the receptionist, but he really had to see House, and he didn't want anyone to know. Not because he was ashamed… Just because it would lead to questions that he didn't want to be asked. His heart thumped loudly against his ribcage when he came to room 408. He put the key in and opened the door. There was a faint neon light burning on the ceiling, which was very high. The walls were a dull shade of yellow and the only thing in the room was a bed and a small wardrobe. They were nailed to the floor so they couldn't be lifted up and the drawers were the type you can't take out. They were made of plastic with no sharp edges or any metal of any sort. Probably so the resident of the room couldn't hurt himself.

Speaking of which, House was currently laying on the bed, but he wasn't sleeping. Chase shut the heavy door with a dull thud, and put the key in his pocket. House sat up immediately, his wide eyes turned to him, unblinking. He looked incredible unhealthy; his eyes were slightly sunken from lack of sleep and he had paled. He was dressed in plain black clothes and was staring at him with deep dislike. Chase took a few steps forwards so he was a mere meter away from House, and the cripple twitched.

"House…" Chase said and the former shook his head, "What do you want? Have you come to ruin my life even more?" Chase didn't know what to reply. He felt guilty, that was true; it was all his fault after all that House was trapped in here and both men knew it. "Look… I'm so sorry." Was all he could find to say, but it was better than nothing.

House apparently didn't think so because he snorted, "Oh, well that solves everything! You're _sorry? _What's it been now, a month? Took you long enough."

"No." Chase told him, "It's been two weeks." House rolled his eyes, and Chase went on. "I'm not sorry for telling Cuddy. I'm sorry for not coming sooner." House glared at him and retorted, "Why would you come visit me anyway? It's not like you care!" The words hurt, because Chase did care, but he couldn't tell House that. So he scratched his temple and bit his lip. "I… You don't deserve any of this, House."

The cripple continued to glare at him forcefully. "I hate you. How can you come in here and tell me this… you… with your freedom! You don't know how this feels." Chase bowed his head. "You're right. I can't imagine how horrible it must be, and I'm so sorry you have to go through this… But it would all be okay if you just told us what's wrong." His boss sneered at him with an utmost aversion and sat up straighter; "It wouldn't. Nothing would change. _She _would have me in here and therapy either way." He seethed and Chase understood 'she' to be Cuddy. The Aussie sighed heavily and decided to sit. He saw House flinch as he approached, but the older man let him sit down on the bed next to him.

He twiddled with his fingers for a while before saying, "If I know you, you probably don't even listen to anything they tell you in therapy." He told his boss, though it wasn't really a question. It earned him a smirk. "Damn right. If those idiots think they know what I'm feeling, or… Or what the hell I could do about it… Well, they're wrong." He paused to look at his employee disdainfully, and smiled. It was a maniacal sort of smile and it made Chase shiver slightly.

House clearly wasn't in a normal mental state. Probably partly from lack of sleep, but it was surely hard on someone to be cooped up in this small room for two weeks strait, after surviving a severe concussion and a bike accident, no less. Chase looked hard at the cripple and saw that his burns had started to heal; they certainly were less red and swollen, and had faded into the skin around them somewhat. The man turned to look at him again, and Chase recoiled slightly. He hoped House hadn't noticed; if he did, he didn't react anyway. He scrutinized him all over and smirked, "Why are you all dressed up?" It was stated as a question, but he looked like he couldn't care less. Chase stared, "Oh… there's a… Party. Down in the lobby." He told his boss, knowing he'd be mad.

To his surprise, it didn't infuriate him; House gave a slight nod, like he understood why Chase was here now. "Avoiding Cuddy?" He grunted. Chase nodded curtly. "I hate her." He admitted without even thinking. House laughed, but it sounded fake. "For doing this to you." The blond added, even if it made things worse. Indeed, the older doctor frowned; "You should hate yourself just as much then." Chase had nothing to answer to that, and he realized that visiting House would only make him furthermore enraged with him and Cuddy. So he made to stand up, with every intention of leaving. House was a bastard, and nothing he could do would change anything about it.

"Stay here." House's voice rang out through the room as he noticed Chase's movement to leave. The latter slumped back down, "What?" He knew he should have ignored House and continued on his way, but something in House's voice retained him. House said nothing more, merely sat there dumbly staring at his employee, who sighed. "Look, if you don't have anything to say, I'll –"

But whatever it is he was going to do was forever lost when he felt House jump on him. He crashed to the floor with the cripple straddling his hips firmly; attacking him by the mouth, teeth and everything. It was angry, but forceful and confident. Chase was blinded by the passion in which House was enthralling him, and fell limp under him. After a few seconds, he threw House off him and said, panting; "Holy shit what's wrong with you?!"

The older doctor didn't respond, staggering to sit up. He finally got in balance, wincing and placing a hand on his thigh, but moved forwards so that he was mere centimeters away from Chase, who was pushed against the wall by House's other arm. "House… what –" He was interrupted once more by House's lips. This time the fluttered over his own as he whispered, "Shut up." Before they were pressed decisively against Chase's, who drew back the instant he felt the other man's hands fiddle with his trouser zipper. He snarled and tried to stand up. It was a battle of arms and legs as one man tried to stand and the other attempted to keep them both to the floor.

Chase stopped struggling and stared at House angrily. He simply smirked back ardently, "I've been in here for two weeks. I need this." He panted, and Chase shook his head madly. This was so wrong. But House's needy face was clearly aroused, and he had to admit to himself that it was tempting. He didn't have time to either refuse categorically or decide to act out with House's proposal before his boss closed the space between them with firm, harsh pelvic movements, making Chase arch his back and moan. He grabbed onto House's shoulders, making him groan at the rasping it caused on his burns, parallel to the friction happening lower on his body. Now he could hardly stay straight, how could he expect to think? He couldn't rationalize with House attacking him like this!

No… It wasn't _attacking_; because Chase sure wasn't fighting back, hell, he loved it. House felt so freaking better than he could ever have imagined. His attempts at standing straight were ruined by his arousal, which was beginning to take over him as House followed him to lie on top of him on the floor.

Both men couldn't take it any more and House struggled to remove his pants, pulling Chase in by the lips. The Australian gave in and maneuvered around so he now sat between House's legs and bulled back the undergarments that were in the way. The cripple shuddered, like he was scared for a second, but it was shook off quickly. House shuffled impatiently, implicitly reminding Chase that he wanted this over with. So Chase pushed House onto his back and worked his stuff. Unknown to House, he had done this before.

House let himself be guided by his employee, and _god_ was he _good_…! He wildly wondered how the hell Chase was so excellent at this. He had needed these few minutes of ecstasy so badly, but all too soon, it was over. He drew his head back so that it rested on the floor and sighed of content, feeling less stressed now.

Chase fell back to rest on his side slowly, breathing deeply. Now he kind of understood what women saw in House; he'd always thought he wasn't so appealing, but this had proved him wrong. Oh how wrong he had been.

The cripple managed to sit up and emit a low groan. "Get out of here. Now." He told the Australian while he picked up his discarded clothes. Chase pulled his pants back up and stared at him, "You're… bisexual?" House smirked, "No. But it doesn't matter if the other person's a woman or not when it's just a blowjob. And I didn't have much choice anyway. I can't start hitting on my psychologist." He laughed slowly and Chase stared harder. "Right… So you're saying you can't go more than two weeks without sex?" He shot at his boss who sneered. "No… I can't go on for more than two weeks without some form of sexual activity. Because that sure doesn't count as sex." Chase snorted; "You're hard to please." House rolled his eyes; "And _you're_ too easy. Now get out."

He felt stupid. He'd just as good told House he was bisexual. And what the hell was he thinking, giving him what he wanted? This was the exact opposite of what the therapy was meant to be doing. House was not supposed to have his way – therapy was intended to make him understand that his life was worth living, yes, but also that he can't always get everything he wants from others. Personally, Chase doubted that House would understand anything at all from his therapies and psychology sessions, but that wasn't a valuable reason for what he had just done. He heard House laugh again, "You're going to come visit me again right?" Chase froze on the spot. What he wouldn't give to be anywhere else at the moment…

"No." He heard himself say, like in a dream. "Enjoy your therapy." He said as coldly as he could manage, and knew instantly that it hadn't worked when House scoffed behind him, "Yeah right. Be sure to give Cuddy my best regards." He shot at the blond who didn't give any sign he'd heard the retort as he walked to the door.

He shut it, making sure that it was firmly locked and made his way back to the reception that was downstairs. He didn't forget to go give the key back to the girl at the counter before taking the elevator however, and she smiled compassionately at him. When he got to the lobby, he found that the party had calmed down a bit. Cuddy and Wilson were still playing poker at the same table as earlier and, judging by the grin on the oncologist's face in contrast to the grim smirk on the Dean of Medicine's, the former was winning.

Foreman had disappeared, and this time Cameron was sitting at the bar. Chase sighed and went to sit with her, the same way he'd done with Foreman a little earlier. Checking his watch, he was surprised to confirm that he'd been gone a while; a little over an hour. He hoped against hope that no one had noticed he had been absent. Cameron smiled warmly at him when she spotted him. He ordered some more Champaign and noted how flushed in the face his female colleague was. "Where were you?" She asked him and he groaned interiorly. On the outside, he kept his casual face up. "I went for a walk. I'm no good at poker and I was getting bored."

She puckered a brow ever so slightly but nodded, taking his excuse without question. "Why?" He questioned, to keep the conversation going so it wouldn't get too awkward. She flapped her hand around a bit, smiling, "Oh nothing. There was a dance a while ago… In fact, it finished only just a few minutes ago." She was looking at him feverishly, and he caught on. "Oh. You wanted to dance with me?" She gave a sort-of-yeah nod. "But it's okay." Chase took a sip of Champaign so he wouldn't have to answer and looked around. The party was looking definitely over now; people were starting to clean things up and store the many casino tables away. The only one that remained was the one where Wilson and Cuddy were still playing with some other doctors.

He watched Cuddy with a little pinch in his gut. He remembered clearly telling House that he hated her. But it was a lie; he didn't hate Cuddy – she was a great person. He just hated what she had done to his boss. She couldn't be blamed personally for it; there had been no other choice.

A shout of triumph reached his ears and shook him out of his thoughts: Wilson was happily punching the air, collecting his winnings. It seemed Cuddy had lost. He grinned but for some reason, when he saw Cuddy walk away and lean against a wall, it faded. He took several moments to decide, but finally walked across the lobby to join her. "Hey." He said as a greeting. She glanced around to him and smiled weakly back at him

"How's it going? I didn't see you gambling at all tonight." She said and he nodded, "I suck at gambling." Cuddy grinned this time, "You could have played anyway? Tch… And I thought without House here I might actually _win_ for once. It seems Wilson's not to be underestimated." She stated, feigning discontent with the hint of a smile. Chase smiled warmly back at her, enjoying her happiness. It made him feel a little better. His heart sank as he thought of what she might say if she ever found out he'd been to see House. And that it hadn't been a mere visit at all.

Vivid mental images of House appeared in his mind and he quickly forced them down as he felt himself harden. Good lord; if the pure thought of House was enough to make him –

"Chase? Are you okay?" Cuddy asked him, looking him strait in the eyes, noticing how stiff he was all of a sudden. He hastily gave a nod; "Yeah!" He assured her, a little too forcefully. She gave him a strange look but didn't inquire him any further. "Um…" He mumbled after a few moments, but came to the quick decision that he really had to say it; "When will House be released?" Cuddy's face hardened and he slightly regretted bringing this up now, though he tried to keep his composure. She coughed. "As soon as we know for sure that he won't kill himself. I don't think he will, as we've taken him off Methadone and he seems to be doing quite well, but all the same…"

"How can you be sure? I mean…" He struggled to find the right words as she frowned, "How will you know he's ready?" Cuddy looked around them slowly, watching the people cleaning up. The lobby was now quite empty of doctors. "We'll know when he'll stop acting strangely. I can tell that he's disgruntled, but he really isn't himself. He hardly ever jokes around about anything you know? It sort of worries me, but they keep telling me he'll be fine. Just as soon as he starts to seem like he actually appreciates life – then he'll be released." Chase looked away by fear that she would see the guilt in his eyes.

He felt guilty for what had happened to House. He felt guilty for what he had just done to House in his room… He felt sick all of a sudden. "Okay, well, thanks. I have to go now." She nodded and left to help clean up some things. Chase stayed there for a second, and came to the realization that he'd have to go home. He did so regrettably, while telling himself that he had said he wouldn't visit House again.

----

He hadn't been able to sleep. Chase had been up watching the TV all night, unable to close an eye. Needless to say he was rather cranky that morning, especially when Cameron entered with a patient file; "We have a case!" She said importantly. Foreman sat up with an interested face but Chase kept on munching on his pencil, giving no sign at all that he'd heard her. She looked down at him, cocking her head, "Chase? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" He snapped back and she exchanged a look with Foreman who smirked and stood up to write the symptoms. It had been a routine in the past weeks that Cameron would get the case, Foreman would manage the whiteboard and Chase would make coffee.

"Where's the coffee?" Cameron inquired as she looked around at the counter. Nobody answered and she turned to Chase. That's when she noticed the empty coffee cup Chase had brought in from Dunkin' Donuts that was standing in front of him on the table. The Australian shrugged. "I didn't feel like making any." Cameron retained a scowl and began to make some herself. Foreman cleared his throat as he finished writing the symptoms they had and the differential began.

"Chase! Would it kill you to participate?" Foreman asked angrily when they had decided what tests to begin with. The Australian yawned slightly and mumbled something incoherent before following Cameron outside, leaving Foreman dejectedly standing alone in the conference room.

"You look like you haven't slept either." Cameron stated to Chase as they made their way back to the differential room with the test results they had just gotten. "Yeah, last night." Chase yawned, "And what do you mean either? That girl hasn't slept for ten days because she has a sickness; it's totally different." Cameron nodded, "Why didn't you sleep? You looked okay at the party…"

"I was okay et the party." Was the Aussie's only reply and their conversation was cut short by Cuddy coming down the corridor to greet them. "News from House?" Cameron asked hopefully. Judging from Cuddy's grin, she was spot on. "They're ready to release him." She announced. "It's confidential information, but he is fully recovered. The treatment worked." Cameron made a small shout of glee, "So he's not going to go suicidal on us?"

"No, he's back to being his miserable old self. I've given him a day off today, so he'll be back at work tomorrow." Cuddy assured her. Chase returned her smile when she glanced at him, and she said she had to go work now. They went back to the conference room, and found that Foreman wasn't back from doing his lab tests yet. They sat down and Chase cleared his throat; "Look, I'm sorry about the coffee…" Cameron chuckled, "It's fine. I can see you're tired." He gave a short nod.

They waited patiently at the table, Chase did a crossword and Cameron sipped her coffee. Foreman was back shortly and they had to deal with a crisis of their patient's liver failing. Finally, they scheduled her for surgery the following morning: her girlfriend had accepted to donate part of her own liver to buy them time.

The day was finally over and Chase was happy to go home, with a strong intention of sleeping well tonight. He hadn't slept much because he felt sick. Strangely, he hated himself for what he'd let House pull him into while in the Psych Ward room, but he had loved it so much also. It hadn't felt like a one-time thing, no, Chase knew he wanted more. Again, again. And again.

That's when, stopped at a red light, his decision was made.

He turned at a corner, just in front of his street, and headed downtown. He knew where House lived; they had been called there by House himself for middle-of-the-night differentials. So he parked in front of 221 Baker Street and got out of his car, walking towards the steps. He knew House was home – his motorcycle was parked in front of the apartment. Chase got to the door, and knocked.

He could hear faint piano sounds on the other side of the door, they stopped and a few seconds later the door was opened. House's eyes hardened at the sight of Chase, who stopped his boss from closing the door by putting his foot between it and the wall. House gave him an annoyed look, but Chase pushed the door open and came in. He got strait to the point; "What the hell is this crap about therapy working?"

House faked a pout, "Aw, and here I thought you would have been happy for me…" Chase snorted, "You can't treat people like they're scum and expect them to take it." He paused, waiting to see if House had anything to say in his defense, but nothing came. The cripple stared blankly at him so Chase smirked; "Don't tell me the therapy actually helped you?" He asked, hopelessly letting his arms fall to the side. House grinned, "It didn't really. I was just sick of being in there."

Chase made a puzzled face which made House's grin widen. "It was easy. I just had to feed them a little smut about how I finally realized how beautiful the world is and stuff… they bought it." Chase seriously doubted it had actually been that easy, but let House go on with his story happily. "And now you can visit me all you like." House finished with a sly grin. Chase felt his insides churn, "What do you mean?" He asked hastily as House walked to the door.

He opened it and placed a stethoscope on the handle. Chase frowned at his boss but apparently it was normal because the door was closed and House came back to face him like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Like you so rightly said yesterday, I am unable to go on without sex for two weeks." Chase trembled, taking several steps back as House advanced on him. This was a mistake; he shouldn't have come here. He'd only come to see if House was alright. He hadn't thought it would turn out like this…

His mouth was captured by House's as, much like yesterday night, Chase was held close to the wall by House's body pressed firmly against him. The diagnostician forced him by the shoulders into his bedroom. Chase was slammed onto the bed vigorously as House droned slowly on him, making him squirm. "House – _House_ –" He moaned as the latter started to undress him. "Hey," He growled at his wombat, "I know you want this."

Admittedly, he did, so he figured that he should stop before he hurt himself or House. Speaking of which, he took care of not straining House's thigh too much as turned around him, trying to take control. He could see House was at a loss of what to do; he was frozen there helplessly. Chase supposed he'd been basing this on experiences with women, but there weren't many similarities at this stage. House stifled a groan when he gave in and let Chase take over, pushing into him with heed not to hurt him. Chase felt the man under him shudder violently the fourth time their hips touched so he hurried to get out of House, who slumped down afterwards, breathing hard.

Chase really was good at this, House reflected as he watched the other sit, while he breathed deeply recovering from what had just happened. It had helped but it still wasn't enough to get rid of… House shook his head, trying to get rid of the memories that came back to him. He would need this again, otherwise it would not work.

The Australian gazed at his boss who had a distant, frightened look upon his face. "House…?" He said lowly and the latter's eyes focused on him abruptly. He shook his head, "I'm fine." Chase nodded, then puckered a brow high; "I thought you said you weren't bisexual." At this statement, House choked on a small laugh though the deep breaths he was taking, "And I'm not."

Chase resisted the urge to argue further and shrugged. House sat up and looked for his clothes. Chase did the same and as soon as they were dressed, the latter looked around and noticed; "Your apartment's awfully clean…" House nodded, "Wilson's been staying here since his wife dumped him." Chase's eyes widened, and House chuckled, "Relax, I took precautions. I told him I would hang up a stethoscope on the door if I was having sex." His bluntness made Chase feel uncomfortable; maybe House didn't care, but he sure didn't want anyone to know about this. "I'll go now." He said, leaving no place for House to argue as he went for the door.

"Sure, see you tomorrow." House answered while placidly following him to the door. So placidly in fact that Chase spun around to face him suspiciously. He smirked, "What?" Chase continued to stare. "You're hiding something." He asserted, hands on his hips. There followed a long silence in which neither man moved and Chase sighed, turning to open the door. That's when he thought; "Wilson!"

"Excuse me?" House replied, smirk widening. "Wilson's going to be waiting outside the door for you to finish right?" Chase said in a hurried whisper, "And you thought I'd fall for that?" House shrugged, "Not really. But Wilson usually finishes at seven thirty… and it's seven thirty-two," The diagnostician told him. Chase gulped.

And opened the door.

To his relief, and House's displeasure, the doormat was devoid of oncologists. "See you tomorrow House." Chase smiled and closed the door, making his way back to his car with a smile.

----

A/N – Question: Rating up? I'm not sure… I feel it wasn't graphic enough to be rated M, but I want to know your opinion. Sorry if you were offended, or something, but I don't think it was that hard.

Review?


	5. Shatter

Hi, I'm back! Thanks so much for all those lovely reviews. So, here, enjoy the new chapter! The updates will likely be a little slower form now on, so I'm sorry about that… I hope you'll like it anyway.

As always, House, M.D. does not belong to me. And no matter how much I plead, it will never belong to me.

**Chapter 5**

**Shatter**

----

Not five minutes had passed since Chase had left when House heard a key being inserted in the door. The lock clutched and Wilson came into the apartment, looking in a hurry. "Hi honey," House called out lazily from the couch, "Good day at work?" He heard the oncologist sigh and set his keys, wallet and phone on the little table before heading over to him. House's heart rate sped up as he realized how close he'd come to being busted; five more minutes, and Wilson would have found out everything.

He'd made Chase believe that he didn't care, but he actually did. The worse thing that could happen right now was for someone to find out about him and Chase, because it would undo everything and his plans would be foiled. The secrecy of this was the key to success, so he'd have to be more careful from now on. Still, he could not believe how stupid he had been; knowing Wilson would be home soon, and yet he had still fulfilled his plan. It had been so reckless of him to carry out such a risky move. Incredible risky, but it was kind of like a little kid stealing cookies from the jar in the kitchen: he knows his parents could find him out at any moment, but he still does it.

_Great, _House thought, _now I'm comparing my actions to those of a six year old… _Except that this wasn't stealing cookies that would merely earn him a little shouting session with mom and dad; this was having sex with an employee that could get him in serious trouble with his superiors. He could only hope that Chase would have the sense not to blab, and suddenly found himself wishing he'd told him about his worries. Which was absurd, because he would never tell him. No, the second worse thing that could happen was _Chase_ finding out.

House was snapped out of his train of thought by Wilson waving his hand in front of his face irately. "So what's for supper?" He asked, looking up at his friend with a grin that was not returned. "It's been two weeks, House… Are you really okay?" Wilson asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Never been better." Was the other's reply and the oncologist sat next to him on the sofa. House waited for the commercial break before saying: "You haven't seen me for two weeks, don't you have anything to tell me?"

"Like what? And besides, I saw you four hours ago when you were released! You came to rant in my office about how _happy _life is. Which was fairly disturbing, though obviously sarcastic, so, anything I would have wanted to tell you; I would have told you already." Wilson shot back without a second's pause, still staring at the TV screen, making House chuckle, "Surely, _something _of interest must have happened while I was, that is to say, so happily locked up." Wilson finally turned to look back at him. "That's a blunt way of saying it… You weren't locked up, House, you were –"

"– Locked up! And now I'm free to relish the joy of life once more. But in the meantime: How many nurses did you bang while I was away?" Wilson slapped his forehead, gave House a short glare, and laughed. "None! Okay? Unlike you, I am perfectly capable of living without sex for a few weeks. I'm surprised you haven't already gotten yourself a hooker in here." He narrowed his eyes at his friend and threw a paranoid glance around the room as if said hooker was hiding somewhere, ready to pounce on him like a cat.

House tried to stay unfazed as he replied; "The psychiatrist said I shouldn't have sex until at least next week." Wilson snorted, "Yeah, like you're going to listen…" The cripple's mouth curled into a small smile and he admitted; "I finished strait before you arrived." Wilson nodded with an 'I knew it' face and they both fell silent afterwards because House's soap was back on.

----

There was too much color. Way too much for his eyes to cope with. That's the first thing House noticed when he limped into the differential room that morning. He stopped to blink at the many balloons that were floating close to the ceiling and the large banner hung up at the back of the room: 'Welcome Back House' it read, in large bubbly letters colored with flashy markers that matched the balloons.

Scowling, he took down the banner, balled it up and threw it away. He then proceeded to pop all the balloons one by one with a sharp pencil and tossed them in the bin to their measly fate along with the banner. Feeling quite content, he sat with a cup of steaming coffee, and awaited his ducklings. He wondered where they could all be: he always had made a point of being the latest to work, and it was already past nine. Maybe they had picked up on his habit of being late? Deciding he didn't really care, he drank down his coffee in peace, miming the piano on the tabletop and humming some undetermined tune.

His moment of tranquility was soon disturbed by his three minions, who hurriedly walked into the room. Cameron braked harshly, gaping around the room, causing the other two to bump into her. "My banner! The balloons!" She squealed unbelievingly at their boss, who smiled. "Aw hey, come on… It's been two weeks and this is how you greet me? I'd have thought you would have missed me." He told her in a mock-disappointed tone of voice.

Cameron bit her lip, placing her hands on her hips in her trademark exasperated look: "I did miss you. That's why I put up the banner and the balloons." She told him quickly, cocking her head a bit. He widened his eyes idly; "Oh really?" He then stood up, aided by his cane and walked up tot hem. "Okay," he confessed dryly, "You got me: I missed you guys too." He sounded almost sincere, but Foreman snorted; "Yeah. And I love you." House stared dramatically at him and put his palm over his heart. "Oh god, I've been waiting for you to tell me that for so long!" Chase laughed at this and House winked, "Don't worry wombat; you're still my favorite." He scoffed, turning away to the whiteboard.

"So… Where were you three? I'll let it pass this time but next time you have an orgy; invite me will you?" He said, twiddling the marker in his hand and reading the symptoms that had been written on the board. No one reacted; they were all too used to his frequent taunts. "Hmm… Severe insomnia, rectal and nasal bleeding, Poison Ivy rash, internal bleeding and liver failure. Wow… did anyone think of… let's see… cancer?" He reflected, tapping his chin with his index, and Cameron shook her head, "Ask Wilson. He did the tests, and no cancer." House tapped the marker on the metal rim of the board. "Well she needs a liver transplant at any rate. Already on the list I presume?"

This time Chase answered, "We couldn't get her on the list until we know for sure what she has. But her girlfriend donated part of her own one to buy us time. So we're completely in the blue again." House gave him a blank look; "Come again?" Cameron sighed, "Yes, _her _girlfriend House. Who cares, it's a patient either way –"

"No, I don't care about that; I mean she gave part of her liver just to buy time for a diagnosis we just plain have no idea about? That's kind of weird." Cameron frowned, "There's nothing weird, they love each other! Just because you're too shallow to understand what love is… She loves Hannah and wants her to have a chance at living. Now we have to find what's wrong or she dies." House stared and made a hurt face. "Hey, be gentle now, I just came out of therapy…" Cameron's face softened but she didn't cringe. "Come on, we have to save her. We lost a patient last week."

House nodded and sat down to read through the patient file. Chase exchanged a look with Foreman; Cameron was being rather strange. That morning she had been overjoyed that House was coming back and had spent hours drawing that banner and putting up the balloons while the patient was in surgery, but now she was rather disgruntled.

The day was not pleasant; they ran in circles between the labs, the differential room and the patient room all day long, until the three ducklings were back in the conference room, with no other choice but to wait and see what would happen now that they had taken Hannah off the medicine. They weren't alone long – Wilson came into the room, hastily looking around, "Where's House?" He asked, craning his neck to look into said cripple's office, but it was devoid of him. "Don't know… probably in the labs looking over the results of our patient..." Chase answered. Wilson nodded absent-mindedly, "What was he like?"

Cameron furrowed a brow, "Normal… Maybe even more hateful than usual." Wilson seemed surprised. "He was in a good mood this morning…" They all shrugged and Wilson said, "Is he the kind of humorous hateful, or just being plain mean?" They took a second to think and Foreman replied thoughtfully, "Well… he's not being really funny or anything if that's what you mean. He's just angry at everyone." He told the oncologist, who stared at him and walked out with a troubled air. What Foreman had said was true. Their boss had mostly spent his day shouting at them and growling over silly things; like leaving his vicodin bottle in his office, or Wilson had hidden his lunch so now House didn't have anything to eat.

"What was that about?" Chase wondered aloud but he wasn't answered. His colleagues were just as lost as he was. House limped back into the room suddenly with a file in hand, only just missing Wilson, and cleared his throat before reading; "Says here they had a dog a while ago."

Foreman shook his head, "Unrelated. She said she was allergic so they had to give it away." House stared into space, tapped his cane three or four times on the ground, and left the room. Cameron frowned and the two other doctors shrugged. "It's House right?" Chase said, "He probably figured out what she had while drinking his coffee or something." They remained seated and waited for him to come back.

"He's so obnoxious." Cameron sighed, looking sadly at her banner and the balloons laying in the trash can. Foreman smirked, "What did you expect? A hug?" She chuckled and shook her head, "No… but he just seems even grumpier than usual."

"He just spent two weeks practically alone in a dark room… I'm surprised he didn't go mad." Chase told her and she bit her lip slowly, nodding. Just then, House was back again. "Bubonic plague!" He announced rather cheerfully.

"What?!" Cameron asked, throwing him a weird look and he smiled, "Hannah has the black plague. From the dog." He went to the board and wiped it clean, "She'll be fine." He said, and turned around to come sit with them. They stared at him, "That's it?" He grinned; "Yeah… you know me. I'm a real miracle worker. I just figured… you know… Her girlfriend wouldn't have bought her a dog if she was allergic. It's improbable that Hannah never had any contact with a dog before and didn't know she was allergic, so she most likely just thought she had become allergic. She must have got the plague from a flea." They stared at him speechlessly and watched him take a seat.

"So what now?" Chase asked, and House ignored him, staring at Cameron. She fidgeted in her seat; "…What?"

"Nothing. So what shall we do now?" He asked around the table, but nobody said anything; Chase just made a face at him for ignoring his comment and repeating it afterwards, so he pouted, "Come on! Let's find something to do before Cuddy makes me do clinic duty. Oh that's a thought… Chase: Clinic duty. Go." Chase glared, but complied, and the two other ducklings watched him leave with uncertainty. "Okay…" Foreman began, "You're in a bad mood, we got that. But do you really have to take it out on Chase? He saved your life…" House made a rather immature grimace. "Saved my life… that's ridiculous! He just happened to be at the right place at the right time: any of you would have done the same thing."

Cameron bowed her head, but Foreman grunted, "Tch, yeah! But if you continue to be so arrogant, we might not be so kind in future." He shot at their crippled boss who made a slight upset face. "Eric! I thought you loved me…" Foreman rolled his eyes and looked away with an expression that plainly said, 'He's hopeless'. Cameron smiled slightly though; there was the boss she knew. Good old comical House. She continued to smile at him, while he stared at Foreman. Foreman was staring back in some kind of strange staring contest. After a while, the neurologist gave into the need to blink and House grinned. He got up and went to his office, leaving a disgruntled Foreman with a nothing more then a cheerful Cameron to talk with.

"He seems okay." She said, "I guess it wasn't that strange that he threw my balloons away…" Foreman chuckled under his breath slowly and started to read the newspaper. Feeling bored, Cameron decided to visit their patient one last time before she was released.

Sitting in his office, House was happy to finally be alone to think a bit. Reunited with his red tennis ball, he distractedly flipped it over between his hands while he thought, feet up on the desk and staring into space at the ceiling. Now that he had time alone, he pondered his situation with Chase; he was being exceedingly obnoxious today because he was still scared Wilson might notice something between him and the blond. And also because it made people think that therapy had had some kind of effect on him. But it had not; he wasn't traumatized by it, and it hadn't helped either.

There was only one thing that could help him; and that was Chase.

He groaned interiorly when he heard the door open with a rattle. Whoever it was, he or she was in a hurry to talk to him. His first guess was; "Wilson." He called out before dropping his gaze to look at the oncologist standing on the other side of the desk. The latter paced slowly in front of him, rubbing his neck. That meant some serious conversation was up soon, usually about something House did or was yet to do…

At last, he took a sharp inhale and said; "You're having sex with one of your people." House frowned as he cursed interiorly, "Well… not right now. Check back later though; you might get lucky." He told his friend with a small smile, turning back to look at his ball that he was still playing around with in his palms. Wilson made a sound akin to a gasp, but not quite. He sounded strangled as he said, "Is that a yes then?" House sighed and stopped moving his ball, looking up. "No." Wilson bit his lip, "I'm guessing Cameron. She gets a point because she's a woman, and because she'd be really easy."

House didn't blink, still staring at Wilson; "What part of the word no confused you? I meant that I'm not having sex with any one of them." Wilson stopped speculating and looked back at him, "You're hiding something from me anyway… And trust me; I'm going to find out what it is." He said smartly, raising a finger. House smirked, "Not if you actually _tell _me you know I'm hiding something… Which I am not. And I'm sure you're banging one of the nurses." Wilson shook his head slightly, with a grin, "Am not. But I'm sure you're banging one of your ducklings."

"Care to bet on it?" Wilson's grin faded, but he quickly pasted it back on; "Okay… Hundred bucks." House shook his head, "Come on, that's wimpy. I'm starting to think you're not actually sure." He wiggled his eyebrows unrelentingly, making the other sigh.

"Fine… Six hundred says I can find out who you're doing before you find out if I'm doing someone and, by chance that I am, who it is." House beamed, "That's more like it!" And they shook hands on it, Wilson smirking, "So you admit that you are doing one of them, then." House just stared back, but didn't answer and the oncologist chuckled before leaving to get back to work.

House's smile faltered as he watched his friend go out the door. He scratched his chin, popped two vicodin and went through to the differential room where only one of his minions was sitting; very efficiently doing nothing. "Okay; six 'o clock, and _I am outta here_!" He announced in a sports commentator kind of voice, and the other doctor looked at him strangely. "Since when do you tell us when you're leaving? You usually just leave…" He asked him, not without suspicion, making him shrug while he distractedly wondered where Chase could be. That's when he remembered he himself had sent the blond to do his clinic hours. Grumbling, he left Foreman to whatever it is he was supposed to be doing, going downstairs to find the wombat.

Barging into the first exam room he came across, he was unlucky enough to be met with a doctor performing a prostate exam. He cringed and walked out hurriedly, checking the little paper outside the next door before opening it. It read 'Robert Chase', so he went in with more confidence this time and found the Aussie examining a little girl supporting a heavy allergic reaction, accompanied by her mother. He twirled around on his chair; "What do you want?" House shrugged and nudged his head at the little girl.

"What's wrong with _her_?" He asked, making an 'Ugh, gross' face. Chase glared, "Allergic reaction to something." House smirked, "Maybe she has the plague, too?" The mother looked between the two and it was her turn to glare, "Will you just hurry up and find what's wrong with her?!" She snapped and Chase nodded, "Yes of course." He then hissed at House, "Get out of here, I'm working." The little girl giggled when House made a grimace behind Chase, but the latter took no notice of it.

Finally pinpointing the problem to be led to some kind of nuts, he referred the mother and her daughter to pediatrics on the second floor. Waiting until they had closed the door behind them, he rounded on House, "What," he began and sighed, "Do you want." It wasn't so much of a question, rather a fed-up statement, but it made House smirk, "Go home. I'll be at your place in about half an hour, make sure you've got something worth eating."

To say that Chase looked dumbstruck would have been an understatement; "What? Why?" He asked and House replied in a hurried undertone, "We obviously can't have sex in my apartment with Wilson around!" Chase's mouth hung open slightly and he shook his head wildly, "What? You… want to have sex again?" He questioned incredulously. Even if he had spoken in a rather reasonable tone of voice, House slapped his hand over Chase's mouth and hissed, "Shut up!" The blond glared and House removed his hand, allowing him to say; "What, is there a problem with saying the word sex?"

House cringed, "No, just don't talk to loud," he whispered and Chase had to lean in to hear what he was saying, "Wilson's on to me. He said he knows I'm sleeping with one of you three and we placed a bet. Long story. But the point is; we can't talk about this in the open with him lurking around." He suddenly stared up at the ceiling, craning his neck to see over the cupboards. "Checking for hidden cameras." He told Chase radically, to which the latter gaped at him and said, "You're fucking paranoid!"

"Whatever… just go." He told his cutest duckling, who frowned, "You said he thinks you're _sleeping _with one of us. That involves multiple times. How can he have been on to you so fast?" He asked in disbelief, and House waved his hand at him in vertical movements of the wrist, "You don't know Wilson," he claimed, "He sucks on to 'Who's sleeping with who?' stories like a maggot. Especially when it involves me." Chase stared numbly, sighed, shaking his head, and left as told. House went back to his office to wait a bit before leaving. It would be suspicious if Wilson found out he had left at the same time as Chase.

----

He really had no idea what he could make to eat. It was the third time he searched through his cupboards and he found nothing he knew House would like. Truth was, Chase liked to cook a lot and he was actually really good. If he wasn't a doctor, he might have been a chef. He finally decided on making some stir fry beef, with broccoli, mushrooms, onions and a bit of wild rice. He splurged in some soy sauce, some grated ginger and red pepper too. Simply made in the about thirty minutes House had said he'd be here in, and it was pretty likely House would like it.

He heard a knock at his door just as he was finished placing the food in two plates neatly onto the table. He hurried to the door and let House in, motioning where to put his shoes. The cripple then followed him to the kitchen and sat down. He stared at his plate, "You made food?" He asked dumbly. Chase nodded with a slight shrug, "Well, yeah… what did you expect? A frozen pre-made dinner or something?" By the look on his boss's face, he suspected that was exactly what House had thought he'd be getting.

"You made this in thirty minutes?" He asked, still somewhat dumbfounded. Chase smiled, "Yeah, it's not long to do. Don't tell me you never cook?" Again, by House's face, he was able to guess his answer. "Wilson cooks, and when he doesn't, I call for pizza or something." He explained and took a bite. Chase sat down and began to eat too, "I took cooking lessons when I was younger and… my mom used to show me when… when my parents were still together." He told his boss rather quietly, and House swallowed, "Well, it's great! I didn't know you cooked." His employee smiled, "It's nothing really. I'll make you something real good sometime if you want." He was earned a nod and they ate in silence until they had finished.

When he was done, House leant back on his chair with a deep look of content. "Feels nice to eat real food?" Chase asked with a hint of a laugh and House nodded, "You're even better than Wilson." The cripple said, and drank the glass of water Chase handed him.

The blond frowned suddenly; it was very uncharacteristic of House to compliment him like this. He must have noticed his frown because he looked at him over the rim of his glass and lifted an eyebrow, "What's wrong?" Chase shook his head, "nothing… You're being nice. It's just weird." House shrugged and Chase went to put the things in the dishwasher, leaving the wok he had used on the counter; he'd wash that later. When he looked back at the table, he found House had disappeared.

Grinning slightly, he went to his bedroom and found the cripple sitting on the bed. He sat in front of him; "You can't say you're strait, now." He said softly, with a smile as he moved in to kiss his boss, lightly at first. The kiss steadily grew more feverishly and House sat up, fumbling with his shirt's buttons. Chase broke the kiss and looked up at him, "This is so not gay." He asserted with a smile. House made a defeated face and smirked.

"Okay if you really have to know, I had sex with a guy once in college and I hated it. So I've never had any relationship with a man after that. What happened in the Psych Ward room was because I really needed to do it, not because I was attracted to you particularly." House told him decisively, "But afterwards, I thought back at it and realized you were attracting in a way." He then shrugged and Chase blinked, "Right, so you're having doubts?" House gave a kind of nod, "I'm sure I need this though." He stated with a mischievous grin before advancing on Chase determinedly.

They were devouring each other's mouths, clinging at each other's clothes, running hands under shirts, and soon enough they were completely naked. House hadn't even noticed, but before he knew it, Chase was behind him with his arms around his boss's middle tightly, doing things with his hands that made House moan and ache from his every cell with an incredible yearning that just couldn't be contained much longer.

Suddenly, the hands that were feeling around on his body were cold and harsh, and a heavy dirty breathing surrounded him. He felt a thrust behind him and a sharp pain followed. He tried to get away but the arms clutching him firmly to the ground were to strong…

"House!" Said a voice and he stopped trying to scramble away, opening his eyes, only now realizing he had closed them tightly. He was horrified to feel that he had silent tears streaming down his face. He looked up and saw Chase's worried face hovering over his. He blinked, and sat up, breathing loudly. He was okay; he was still on Chase's bed. He was safe; not in the dark alley on that cold night. He avoided looking at Chase, but it was hard to do with the latter only inches from his face, looking intently at him with a searching look. "What's wrong?" he asked the older man who was suddenly looking so weak.

"Nothing." House growled, but his voice sounded noticeably fragile. Chase tried to keep his tone of voice calm as he pressed him further, "Don't say it's nothing; you panicked completely." House looked at him at last with a distant desperate stare, "I…" The word caught in his throat. Chase waited for him to say the rest patiently, keeping one hand on his shoulder. "Why are you agreeing to have sex with me?" House asked him finally.

Chase was taken-aback. "I like it… what other motive could I have? You dragged me into it, and it feels good, really, so… why not?" House didn't make any sign he had heard him, still staring into his eyes. House guessed he couldn't keep it from him much longer. And it suddenly just had to come out; it was impossible from him to continue bottling this up inside himself anymore.

"I was raped." He said quietly, without looking away. Chase's eyes widened and his jaw loosened, his mouth hanging open slightly. He fumbled on his words; "W – what? You… but… why didn't you say anything to anyone? You could have gotten help! A rape kit… and… oh god, House…" The Australian said hurriedly, shaking his head. "When was it?" He decided on asking firstly.

House blinked a few times and said colorlessly, "The night before you found me lying in the alley." Chase stared, "But… then, what were you doing there? When I found you…" He inquired, trying to understand. It was just so horrible that it didn't seem real. His boss dropped his gaze to stare at his hands that were playing with a stray thread from the bedcovers, and sighed, "I tried to kill myself with a concussion. I know it sounds painful, and it was, but I wasn't thinking strait. I banged by head on the wall until I couldn't take it anymore and fell down. The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital." He admitted without remorse. Chase stared.

"Then… that's why you had the bike accident too? It really was on purpose?" He demanded, disbelieving, and House smirked, "You thought so? Well, it's true… I got on my bike without my helmet and crashed into a telephone pole. Next thing I remember is waking in the hospital again." Chase couldn't believe it. "And then you tried to kill yourself with morphine? Why? After all those violent ways of suicide… you turned to a more passive one…"

"Not entirely. Morphine is painful in a way after you take too much, but you effectively stopped me before I had really too much…" He said, rather heatedly all of a sudden. "I tried the concussion and the bike accident because I needed to _feel _something." He added thoughtfully. "What do you mean?" Chase asked while staring at his boss sadly, and the latter smiled. It was not a happy smile.

"I couldn't feel anything after the rape… I tried drugs because of that, but even if it cured the migraine I got from that medicine I took, I still couldn't feel anything strong, you know? I reckoned that pain would be the easiest feeling to get." After this, House fell silent, and wiped his drying tears on his arm while Chase stared at him helplessly. He got up and went to get his boss a glass of water. "Here. It helps when you cry." He muttered as he handed it to him. It was drank down quickly and placed on the night table afterwards.

Silence overcame them for a while; Chase crept closer to House and put an arm around him. He placed the covers over his shoulders so they wouldn't get cold. He then said, "Is that why you're doing this? To get rid of the feel of the man who… did this to you?" House didn't reply but Chase saw his head nod faintly. "I'm sorry I have to ask this but… Is it really worth dying over…?" He felt House shudder. "Have _you_ ever been raped Chase?" He shot back in a rasping voice, and the Australian hastily shook his head. "No. Sorry… I… shouldn't have said that."

"It's just…" House began and closed his eyes. Chase looked at him curiously, even if House wasn't looking at him. He had to make House understand he was there for him. "My life sucks." He declared. "I sent Stacy away because she deserves better. I… I hate myself."

Chase suddenly felt cold, even burrowed in the warm covers with House; a shiver ran down his spine. How could this be? House was so strong. The House he had come to know was over these kinds of things. The House he knew wouldn't crumble under anything.

But this House was shattered inside.

He could feel it; his boss had something irreparable inside of him. Everyone kept saying he was broken, but they didn't know what broken was. The old House hadn't been broken; he'd been miserable. This was completely different. Nothing would ever be able to mend the pain he felt.

"Don't." Chase told him, "Don't hate yourself." House turned his angry eyes on him, "I do. Just shut up. You don't understand." He stood up and glared, "I shouldn't have told you this. So look, either we do what I came here for, or I go back home. And you're not going to tell anyone, am I clear?!" Chase hung his head.

"If I don't give you what you want… will you just go away and find someone else?" He asked quietly. House didn't answer, and Chase knew how stupid his question had been; it couldn't be clearer that House would get what he wants by any means possible, thus, from anyone. That's when he coughed and said, "No. I'll go back home, and I'll try again tomorrow. You're the only thing that can keep me from going insane. Without you… the numbness will come back." The Australian stared, "But… why me?" This was earned a shrug. "Because it happened to fall on you… It could easily have been anyone else." The cripple sighed and sat down, looking deep into the other's eyes.

Chase handed the older doctor the blanket; he took it, but merely kept it in his hands, still not dropping his gaze. "I can't!" Chase finally let out quickly, even though he really wanted to. "I can't have sex with you knowing what happened. You're hurt!" House's face became tense; "I need it. I'll go crazy otherwise." Chase didn't reply, but kept on staring at him, making the diagnostician growl. "I need to feel something!" he shouted and his employee flinched.

"So I'm just a way for you to feel?" He repeated back with uncertainty and was thrown a look of dismay from his boss. "You're the only way Chase. Yesterday you gave me a moment of freedom from the numbness I was feeling… I want it again." He implored and the intensivist gazed at him intently, but with hesitation. He'd never heard House pleading before; it was strange and it scared him – he'd always thought House was so strong. And never, _never_, did House plead for something.

Guessing he had no other choice, House closed the space between himself and the bed, throwing his pants to the floor and sitting back down. It was already too late and House was straddling his hips compellingly when Chase realized what was happening. One second his boss had been standing over in the middle of the room and now he was here doing all these amazing things to him. And now… _god_… he could barely think at all. He gave into it without debate, and they resumed their previous activity with every intention of finishing it.

----

"You're… amazing…" House breathed as they lay down comfortably together under the sheets, both rather out of breath. He felt Chase shrug and smile against his neck, which he was currently sucking against. "I know," He chuckled and House smirked, "Oh, you young people… so cocky…" Chase laughed, "Because you're not cocky? House, you're the most pretentious person I know." There was no answer. He'd expected a snappy retort, but nothing came.

He was suddenly brushed off as House got out of the bed and started collecting his clothes, "I have to get out of here." Chase frowned, "Why? What's the matter?" There was till no answer. "Can I use your shower? For the scent you know… Wilson might suspect something." Chase made a strange face, "Yeah sure, but what's wrong?" House stopped in the doorway and turned, "I can't stay here idiot! Wilson will notice I was gone the whole night."

"You could tell him you spent the night in a bar. He doesn't have to know you were here." House shook his head and repeated, "I have to go." He then went into the bathroom and moments later, after the door was locked with a click, Chase heard the shower being turned on. He lay back down and sighed, supposing he would never understand House. No one really did.

The warm water was a great relief. However, he cleaned himself quickly, taking care not to wet his hair so it wouldn't look like he'd showered, and got strait out afterwards. It had been nearly torture to want to put his head under the water but couldn't. He quickly dried himself and put his clothes from yesterday back on. He couldn't stay here, for the simple reason that Chase wanted him to stay.

If he stayed, he could be sure that Chase would end up getting attached to him. He knew it. Because that was just how these things went; it would start out as a fuckbuddy thing and one time, just one night, House would stay and suddenly they would be having dinner together and hanging out on weekends. He didn't want that, mostly because he really only wanted the sex, but also because he was scared he might develop something too. He didn't know how long this would last anyway, but he planned to make the most of it.

Making the most of it was not falling in love with Chase. That was unthinkable.

Chase was still in bed when he exited the bathroom, checking his watch. It was nearing midnight, so he probably wanted to get some sleep. House didn't bother to say bye or anything, but went to the door and left. He got in his car, now that he didn't have a bike anymore, and drove back home, hoping Wilson was asleep.

Tough luck, as soon as he entered, the oncologist jumped up from the couch to greet him. "At a bar." House said before Wilson could even ask. The latter crossed his arms and grinned, "Nice try! Now I have proof you're sleeping with someone."

"No you don't," House scoffed, hanging up his coat, "You don't have proof of anything." Wilson didn't answer until House went over to the TV and closed it. "You're all flushed in the face, and you smell like you just showered. Smells like…" He leaned in and sniffed at him, "peaches…" He remarked and House cursed interiorly – Damn Chase's peach-scented body wash! He had nothing to say to defend his cause, so he stayed silent and dodged Wilson on his way to the bedroom. He heard his friend make a sound of triumph.

"I knew it!" He exclaimed, "I'm sure it's Cameron." House stopped. "How can you be sure?" He asked and Wilson made a 'duh' face. "I'll have real proof soon, House, and you'll owe me six hundred bucks." House snorted, "Not before I can figure out which nurse _you're_ doing." He then went to bed, his smile failing. This was so bad… He could not let Wilson find out. The only way for that was for him to prove Wilson was sleeping with one of the nurses.

Damn, how'd he manage to get in this mess? One of the last things he felt like doing was investigating on Wilson's personal life. Usually he would love doing it, but not now. Now, he felt like nothing was worth living anymore. No… He lived for those moments Chase gave him. They wouldn't fix him, but they would at least keep him from going insane.


	6. Open

Hello it's me again! Well, firstly, sorry for the long time I took to update… I wanted to take my time and, I know this one is short, but the two next ones will be longer and epic… because there are only two left (excluding this one), and I've already begun to write them. I just wanted to be sure that everything worked together.

So thanks again to everyone who reviewed and stuff! I still don't own House, M.D. BTW!

**Chapter Six**

**Open**

----

The door opened noisily and Cuddy put down her pen, looking over her stack of paperwork, sighing. "What is it?" She shot at the cripple now advancing toward her. He stopped once in front of the desk, leaning on his cane and staring downwards at her with an unreadable expression. She stared back and shook her head impatiently, "What do you want House?" She asked, not unkindly, but still irritated. He fiddled with his cane, a new one Cameron had given him as a welcome back gift. It was nice; a sleek black with a silvery carved handle.

"It was for your own good." Cuddy decided on saying when House failed to speak. At her words, his face became steadily bitter and his eyes adorned a sudden coldness which momentarily made Cuddy feel guilty. He'd already been so miserable before the incident, but now he seemed to have aged a couple of years in barely two weeks; he had paled, his face was a little more sunken and his clothes hung loosely over his shoulders, hinting at a considerable weight loss. He looked utterly defeated.

"Oh yeah, it really did some good! Maybe you should try it for a while and we'll see how you feel afterwards…" He snarled, making her wince, but she didn't drop her gaze. "I know you're pissed. I knew you'd be pissed when I made that decision! But I still did it, even if I hated myself for it, alright? You needed it – the proof is that you haven't killed yourself." She answered breathlessly, trying to disguise the nervous tremble in her voice. House snorted; "Oh cut the crap will you? You didn't do it for me, you did it for you."

She lifted an eyebrow and smirked. "Yes, you're right! I did it for me, but not to fulfill some kind of vengeful desire; because I want you to live, House. If you died, not only would this hospital lose its best doctor, I would be losing a friend. That's what you are to me House and I don't want to lose you." Glaring one last time, she picked up her pen and resumed her work with angry, barely-legible scribbles. "No," House said numbly, "You're only my boss. You don't give a damn about me." And he turned swiftly to leave the office. Cuddy stopped writing in mid-word, but kept her head lowered over her work, listening to House leaving.

She nearly called out something to make him stay, but thought better of it; he wouldn't listen. Even if he did, she had no idea what she could say to him at this point. Everything she'd needed to tell him had been said, and nothing more could calm him down. No matter what happened from now on, Cuddy was quite sure he would never get over it. House rarely got over anything, so this… This, he would never forgive her for. Her attempts to make him stay her friend would be in vain.

But Cuddy was confused. The doctors and therapists who had taken House's case affirmed he was fine. How could anyone _know_ he wasn't going to kill himself? Now two days after his release, he had not attempted anything, but the fact remained that they still did not know for sure what had really triggered his suicidal attempts. The therapistd insisted it was a side-effect of the Methadone he'd been taking, but what if they were wrong?

There was a wet spot on her paper. Blinking, Cuddy realized her vision had become blurry from tears. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with a tissue, quite shocked at herself. It was pretty uncanny of her to get worked up, but she felt so lost, with no way of knowing if House would be alright or if he wouldn't be coming to work tomorrow…

She was suddenly horrified by a mental image of a dead House holding a gun… _No_, she thought and shook her head fiercely, _he wouldn't. He won't! He's going to be fine. _All her doubts were thus shoved into a mental drawer and stored away as she tried to consider other possibilities. Maybe House had realized he had something to live for after all? She couldn't imagine what it could be, but it was better than not knowing anything.

All she could hope for was that House had found a meaning to his life and would cling to it, because he was out of her reach now. She couldn't do anything more to help him, and it had already cost her a lot to have him in therapy. House didn't even know that she had paid for his therapy herself. He probably thought the hospital assumed the costs if it was for one of the doctors, but it did not. He didn't need to know anyway – she doubted it would change any of the bitter sentiments he now held toward her.

----

The conference room he found was empty. Cuddy had said they could have some time off because they had done much more work than usual in the last few weeks, although House knew it was because she was worried about him. So with no patients to deal with yet, the ducklings were busy catching up on paperwork or clinic duty, or some other things House couldn't care less about. To say he was angry would really be understated: he was furious. His greatest hope in going to see Cuddy had been to make her apologize in some way, or tell him he was exempt from clinic duty this week, or whatever other thing she could have thought of.

At first, he had been avoiding her, in the optimism that she might come apologize to him before he had to go to her, but she hadn't spoken to him at all yesterday. He'd gotten tired of waiting, despite it having been only one day, and decided he had to act. She had made him fail miserable. Because it was not his fault at all! He wanted apologies, and she's the one who wouldn't give them.

That was not, however, what infuriated him the most. It was more the fact that she had been so placid about it all. Another thing that angered him to a considerable point was himself. He'd let himself get all emotional while she remained cool and collected.

So since there was scarcely anything of interest to do in the empty conference room, he went to his office, keen for some time alone. Therefore, he was rather disappointed and irritated to find an oncologist sitting in his chair, grinning up to his ears. House forced a smile; "What now? Have you come to admit who it is you're banging?" Wilson's grin remained as large as it already was as he answered, "No… I have come to question you about your minions."

House snorted, whisked his friend of the chair, sat and propped his legs onto the desk, folding his arms. "Ask away my dear Wilson."

"Well, _Sherlock House,_" Wilson sneered slightly, "I no longer think you're doing Cameron." He said knowingly and House had to suppress a laugh. Instead he said, "Okay… why the sudden change in opinion? I thought you were so sure I was doing her." At this remark, Wilson chuckled, and looked around as if to be sure the object of their conversation was nowhere around, then opened his mouth to speak slowly. "Miss Cameron has dinner with someone tomorrow night at eight o' clock. If you were doing _her_, you wouldn't be taking her out for dinner. It's not your style. Plus, it's your poker night tomorrow."

House stared at his friend as many questions formed in his head. He chose one and went with that; "How do you know she had dinner tomorrow?" He questioned suspiciously. Indeed, it wasn't much like Wilson to rummage through other people's stuff to spy on their after work activities.

The oncologist grinned sneakily. "Well, if by any chance I were to enter the conference room and find it devoid of ducklings AND, by chance, I were to spot Cameron's planner left unguarded on the table AND, I were to be feeling rather intrusive that day… Well maybe I would take a little peek at it." He finished, and wasn't able to contain his smile, making House smirk. "Wow, Jimmy, you're _bad_." He stated, rolling his eyes.

"At least I'm doing something! You haven't started yet… You're going to owe me six hundred bucks and you know it." Wilson scoffed and to his deception, House shrugged. "For all you know, I _could_ be taking Cameron to dinner." He told the oncologist, if only to make him doubt his conclusions. "Are you saying that you are?" Was his reply and House smiled, "Maybe, maybe not." He answered airily.

A grin was shot back at him. It was clear that Wilson was not going to give up that easily. House checked his watch; nearly lunch time. As he got up to go downstairs for lunch, Wilson followed him. It wasn't until they were facing the elevator that House turned at stared at him, "What?" He asked, irate, and Wilson frowned. "Well… Lunch? I thought you were planning to make me pay for your food… or steal mine."

"No." House said, turning back to face the elevator, stepping in quickly and punching the button to close the door before Wilson could get in. Immediately, he felt a lurch and the machine descended slowly. He clenched his teeth and managed not to slam his head on the wall, although he would very have liked to do so, despite the bad experience he had with the action in the past.

He was doing exactly what he shouldn't be doing… that is, playing into Wilson's game, and being irritable. He was usually irritable anyway, but this kind of irritable wasn't like him. He had changed since his commotion, that was sure, but he couldn't let anyone notice that. Especially Wilson, because then he would tell Cuddy and further complications would ensue. The major problem in all this was Chase.

The blond duckling was turning out to be much more trouble than he'd thought. After merely one day Wilson had figured out something was up. And if House wasn't careful, he would know _what_ was up pretty soon. He could not let that happen.

He would not let that happen.

The elevator doors opened again and he walked out quickly. Maybe if he was fast enough he could leave the hospital before Wilson saw him. It seemed his luck was getting better today since the oncologist was nowhere to be found when he walked through the lobby towards the front doors. Finally he got outside and headed for his car. "House!" he heard behind him, and he turned around hastily, annoyed. He recognized that voice anywhere…

"What are you doing idiot?" He shot at Chase, who stopped and took a few breaths. "What? I saw you leaving, and… where are you going?" House was able not to seethe, but only just, as he replied in a hushed voice, "Get out of here. Wilson could be lurking somewhere…" Chase made a strange kind of pout; "What is it with Wilson? Why would it be so bad if he found out?"

The cripple closed his eyes and shook his head, before turning away and walking to his car. The blond followed him and blocked his path; "Hey! Don't ignore me…" House looked back at him with an unfazed expression and Chase went on, "What is wrong with you –"

"Damn it, Chase!" He angered the said Australian, who made another kind of pout as he flinched. House suddenly felt the urge to kiss him. He slapped himself interiorly and tore his eyes away from Chase's perfect, pouted pink lips…

"I made a bet with Wilson, remember? That's six hundred bucks I could be losing because of you." He said harshly and Chase rolled his eyes, "Yeah, it's my fault you made a stupid bet." House glared and dodged him to enter his car at last. He didn't need _Chase _of all people to remind him how reckless he was acting… He sped off without even looking back, and knew that Chase must be fuming at him. He smiled; Chase was pretty cute when he was aggravated.

----

When he came back from his lunch break, House's leg was killing him. It took him three whole minutes to get out of his car and about five more just to limp to the hospital. He took refuge in his office, massaging his thigh with a hiss. It was only two o' clock, so he would have to wait four more hours until he could leave without Cuddy being mad at him.

Four hours was long when one had nothing to do, and was in pain. He didn't want to ask Wilson for a vicodin refill because he'd just get nagged with the bet thing all over again. He searched around in his mind for what he could do to pass time; and heard muffled voices next door. Oh right, his three ducklings were there.

He managed to stand up without staggering too much and limped stiffly to the door leading to the conference room. He stopped when he heard his name, and shifted back behind the wall so he wouldn't get noticed. The door was closed but if he didn't move and approached his ear to the little crack at it's hinge, he could hear clearly enough what they were saying.

"– reckons House is sleeping with one of us?!" He heard Cameron saying incredulously, and Chase's voice replied, "Yeah… Crazy, huh? And they've got a bet going on… six hundred buck at stake." House fumed, and only just managed not to burst in there to murder Chase. His leg was throbbing too painfully anyway. Just then, Foreman snorted, "Geez, they mean business. But what's it to us?"

"Well, two choices…" Chase replied, with a voice that made House imagine he was smirking, "We can either help House or not."

"What do you mean help him?" Cameron asked and Chase explained, "We could set Wilson up and prove somehow that none of us are sleeping with House. Without Wilson finding out though, you know?" Foreman chuckled; "Right… How d'you suggest we do that?"

"Simple! Now that we know Wilson's supposedly 'on to us' we can find a way to brush off his 'suspicions' right? If we're subtle, we can manage to do that rather easily. Anyway, I don't know about you two, but I'd rather not have Wilson thinking I'm having sex with House." He told his colleagues in a reasonable calm tone, though letting show some uneasiness. House had to admit he was quite the actor.

Cameron hummed, "Yeah you're right… It shouldn't be too hard to brush suspicions off us, since none of us are actually sleeping with him." Her tone was rather humorous, and House smirked, thinking he'd love to know what was going on in Chase's head at the moment. When the ducklings fell silent, he went back to sit at his desk slowly, careful not to make any noise.

He suddenly remembered about his poker night. Wilson had remembered for some reason, but not him. He'd have to call the guys to tell them it was cancelled, because otherwise he wouldn't be having any Chase tomorrow night. It saddened him to think that he referred to Chase as some kind of food in his mind. It also saddened him to realize he couldn't go on without him. It left him feeling awfully weak. It struck him how lame he actually was… Listening at doors, honestly, who did that?

He did apparently, but it had served well. Maybe he'd get to keep his six hundred bucks after all. He hoped so, because, again, Wilson _could not _find out! It was starting to exasperate him how often he had this conversation with himself in his mind; like some kind of linguistic möbius strip. Okay now, he was seriously starting to annoy himself.

That was a one of the things that had changed in him since his infraction; he annoyed himself to no end. Admittedly, he'd used to think he was great, and people had been right about him being narcissistic. Now, he felt stupid and useless. He really hated himself, and if it wasn't for Chase, he'd consider killing himself again. It was so strange that he hardly understood it himself. Something was broken in him ever since the rape, and he couldn't deny that he felt filthy. Every time he looked at himself, he could not help but think how powerless he was.

He'd tried to imagine what he must have looked like from the point of view of that rapist, and it sickened him to no end. He felt an itch under his skin that no amount of scratching could erase. It cause cold shivers down his spine. He hated himself, he was useless.

There he went again, with the repeating.

Useless, stupid, filthy…

Scowling, he reached for his bottle of vicodin in his pocket but remembered it was empty when it didn't rattle. It was placed on his desk as he stared at it longingly. Stupid Wilson with his bet. If it wasn't for that, he'd go ask for more vicodin. This pain was starting to get unbearable, but he couldn't resume himself on asking Wilson. Suddenly, he had no desire at all for more vicodin; he didn't want any. He needed nothing more than Chase. That was all he needed to relieve his pain. Not only his leg that was aching, but also the dreadful numbness in his chest.

He picked up the little orange bottle and threw it across the room in an impulsive motion of deep anger. He didn't know what had come over him, but it felt good. His pain even dissipated a little. He couldn't take any more of this. Growling with a rather animalistic feeling taking over him, he stood and limped furiously to the conference room. When he barged in, he noticed his ducklings tense up and look around at him frantically as if they were hiding something.

Of course they were, he was a goddamn door listener right?

House only just controlled his sudden desire to just grab Chase and leave, and managed to sit down. Curiously, his leg wasn't hurting as much now. Cameron was looking at him nervously, her face very close all of a sudden. "House…? What's wrong?" She asked kindly, while Foreman and Chase exchanged looks. He just nodded and murmured something that even he wasn't sure had meant. The warning was clear and Cameron didn't say anything more. The tension in the room then remained stable, but high enough to make anyone uncomfortable enough not to speak and everyone returned to their occupations.

It was making Chase fidget in his seat. At first he'd resumed himself to his crosswords, but had looked up when he had felt someone's eyes on him. It was House. The way his eyes were boring into his own, no – _into_ him – was just impossibly… arousing? He was perturbed by it. How could he feel like this when all House was doing was looking at him? To make things even worse, he couldn't look away. It wouldn't have been so bad if he could just have ignored him and went on with his crosswords, but he just couldn't!

That stare was keeping him from doing anything else. So he kept on looking back at his boss, who, unblinking, kept his face masqueraded from all emotion. Chase could only hope that his colleagues wouldn't notice the effect House was having on him…

Foreman was staring at Chase with a slight frown. He'd been reading the newspaper when he saw Chase look up at their boss from the corner of his eye. He'd made nothing much of it at first, but after a while it began to prick his curiosity a little. As soon as he looked up at the blond, he was caught put off by the emotion in the latter's eyes. The way he was staring at House seemed fascinated in a way, but mostly conquered. Like he could have lain at the cripple's feet and let House do whatever he wanted to him. It was strange, and a little disturbing.

Although less disturbing than the look he saw on House's face when Foreman turned to look. His eyes were firmly locked with the Australian's in a silent battle of will. The word to best describe it was lust, although it wasn't lust in a sweet adoration sort of way. It was like House was a lion ready to pounce through the wilderness into a herd of zebras. Foreman found it strange to think of House and Chase as predator and prey, but it was really the only metaphor he could find to describe the way they were looking at each other.

Cameron was reading a book, blissfully unaware of what was going on in the silent world between House and Chase, with Foreman as its only spectator.

After who knows how long, Cameron shut her book with a slight snapping sound and stored it away, looking around at her colleagues cheerily. "Maybe we'll get a case soon? It was nice of Cuddy to give us a break and all, but we don't have anything to do…" She remarked, still oblivious to the sexual tension lingering between her boss and blond colleague. Foreman looked up at her, "Yeah…" He nodded distractedly. The sudden sounds of their voices seemed to snap House and Chase out of their closed up world of emotions as they turned around to Cameron too, Chase slightly flushed.

House grimaced as he stood up, "Well I'm tired of being here and doing nothing." He stated as he went to the door. He left, giving them no time to reply, but he shot a meaningful look at Chase before he did. It was a look that plainly said 'Back off'. Foreman thought it was contradictory, but Chase seemed unfazed by it. In fact, as soon as House had disappeared, he picked up his bag and stood up too. "I think I'll go as well…" He said slowly and walked out, looking rushed.

Cameron stared at him, then looked back at Foreman. "What's their problem?" She asked vividly and Foreman didn't answer, just stared back at her for a few seconds. Then he cleared his throat slightly and said; "I don't know… They just kept looking at each other… when we were sitting here earlier." She gave him a puzzled look and he tried to think how he could explain it, knowing he wasn't making any sense.

"Just before House left, they were just sitting there… staring at each other. I can't describe it… They were just mesmerized by each other. I dunno…" Cameron frowned and scratched her head, her fingers lingering in her hair a little as they made their way back down to the table. "You mean like… What – do you think something happened? Maybe House yelled at Chase? It would be like him to be mad at him for…" She paused a second then said flatly, "for… saving his life."

Having received no answer from Foreman, she made to get up and leave, but suddenly he said; "No. It wasn't that sort of stare. He looked annoyed but it wasn't the kind of really angry, I-want-to-kill-you way. He looked…" Foreman stopped when Cameron frowned again, making it clear that she really didn't understand. "It looked like House was lusting over Chase." Cameron shook her head, "No way."

"I'm just saying!" Foreman told her, shrugging, "But I know what I saw."

"There's no way they're…" Cameron argued again, but trailed off slowly. Foreman shrugged again and gathered his things to leave. Seeing as the conversation was case closed, Cameron took her bag and followed after Foreman, who locked the door. They exchanged a quick nod of goodbye and left their separate ways.

----

"You're an idiot." House called out as he limped from his couch to the door when he heard several quick knocks. _That was quick_, he thought; he'd only just arrived and Chase was already over here. Well, it wasn't too soon either; he smirked as he opened the door to reveal the blond intensivist, who entered in swift steps and dropped his bag next to the piano after hanging his coat and slipping off his shoes.

Then he turned to House and puckered a brow with a reminiscent look; "You could have tried to be more subtle. Foreman's bound to figure out what's going on." He remarked idly and House grinned lazily, took a step forward and stared down at him with that same passionate look as earlier as he said, "It doesn't matter anymore." Chase frowned further, "Why? I though someone finding out was your worst nightmare of sorts…"

Chase trailed off as House took another step toward the Australian so that their bodies were firmly pressed against each other. It wasn't so much because of their closeness, but more the hands now roaming under his shirt and the sudden breathing in his ear. He grasped House's shoulder blades as the latter's fingers, previously running over his lower abdomen, slipped under his underwear and over a much more sensitive part of his body. He hissed of pleasure and his head lurched backwards, banging against the door. His breath began to get heavier, but he managed to say, "What if… Wilson gets here and…" House shook his head, "It's three o' clock, he won't get here until at least eight." But just to be sure, he opened the door, grabbed the stethoscope that was perched on the little table next to them and hung it on the doorknob.

That done, the door was closed and locked before House turned back to his employee who was wearing a needy and aroused expression. The cripple was only too happy to please as he mentioned his to the bedroom and once there, pushed him onto the bed with himself. Chase sat up and began to undo his boss's pants, receiving the satisfaction of having him squirm underneath him. When this action was done, he moved to the shirt and, for good measure, House began undressing him too. Suddenly, they were done and Chase was readying House when the latter said lowly, "I'd like to be on top."

Chase frowned; since when did _House_ ask for anything? Usually he just took whatever he wanted. "Uh, yeah." Chase shot back and helped House move over him, "I guess you know how it works by now…" He asked, or rather said, because he knew it was useless. "Don't talk." House told him, though a little less harshly than usual and Chase gulped slightly, "Okay."

Indeed, House understood how it worked pretty well in Chase's opinion. The older doctor positioned himself behind him and grabbed his hands when he began. Chase started to moan again when it was too much to take and House whispered in his ear through his panting; "Heh… no stamina…" But it made Chase smile and he tightened his grip around House's hand, entwining their fingers. "Aah… Greg..." Chase finally sighed when it was over and they lay down catching their breath slightly.

Suddenly, House looked up at him, "You called me… by my first name." He stated and Chase smiled, "Yeah." He'd been about to add 'so?' but decided against it. It would lead to awkward conclusions. But House took a deep breath and said suddenly; "Can I… Kiss you?" Chase stopped and frowned with a slight smile. "Of course… since when do you need to ask permission?" He asked, rather confused. It was the second time now that House asked him for something…

"I didn't know what you'd think of it." Was the diagnostician's answer before he moved in to capture those perfect lips he'd been daydreaming about since midday. Chase let out a whine when House drew back and breathed against his lips; "Because…" He kissed his employee again, then stopped to continue, "…I thought that… before this…" He interrupted himself with another kiss, longer this time, before he moved out of the kiss again to finish, "…it was just sex." He ran a hand on the blond's cheek and cupped his chin lightly. Chase looked back at him with wide eyes and spoke so quietly that House barely heard it, "I don't want this to be just sex." He admitted, his sudden blush clashing with his lips, swollen somewhat from the kissing, as he placed a hand on the one caressing his face.

House looked downwards and put his face in his other hand, though keeping the one on Chase's cheek there, rubbing his forehead slowly. "I can't," he said dejectedly, "I can't let us become more than… this." Chase removed his hand that was on House's, "Why? Because you're afraid of… being in love?" Chase asked hesitantly and House let both his hands fall down to his lap as he turned to stare at him again. "Are you saying you're in love with me, Chase?"

Realizing what he'd just said was more or less equal to a confession of love, Chase shifted uncomfortably, avoiding House's gaze. The magic of the moment was gone – leaving him with a cold feeling of exposed nakedness. Well… probably because he _was_ naked after all… "I…" His heart thumped uncomfortably and he finally decided on looking up into his boss's deep blue eyes, "I… yes, House, I… think I love you."

Unexpectedly, House's eyes hardened. "I don't want you to say this because you're scared I might kill myself. And you don't _think_ you love me. Either you do or not." He told him rather harshly, to which Chase immediately replied; "I'm sure. I do love you." He then fell silent but continued to look at his mentor with a hard, evocative look, which was not returned. Instead, the cripple sighed harshly; "I can't Chase. I'll let you down."

"But if you do love me… then why can't you?" Chase asked, grasping House's hands once more and sitting up straighter. At last, House's eyes softened a bit and he gulped. "I'm too broken. It's not just you… I'd let anyone down." Chase shook his head; "I'll fix you!"

"No you won't!" House growled, "You can't do anything for me!" His words were like a slap in the face for Chase, who stared at his mentor with an expression of dismay. "Let me try." He said in a pleading voice. It was all he wanted; the opportunity to prove to House that he could – no, that he _would_ get through this. "I just want a chance. Let me try and afterwards… well, it'll be up to you to decide if it's worth it or not." Chase sighed and punctuated his argument with a defiant stare, trying his best to make House realize how much this meant to him. He couldn't quite determinate what the emotion he saw in those blue eyes was; House seemed divided between his want to trust Chase and his need to let everything go. It would be just so easy for him to abandon everything and unshackle himself from all this suffering. Somehow, Chase couldn't stand the thought of letting him do that.

Another awkward moment slipped between them and, at long last, House closed his eyes with a pained expression and sighed; "Do what you will." He stated dejectedly and Chase grinned at him when he reopened his eyes; "I plan to!" He assured him, crawled forwards on his hands and knees to hug House around the middle tightly. At first, House twitched but eventually leaned into the cuddling.

With the help of his knees, Chase hoisted himself so he was sitting between House's legs and his head was resting on his shoulder. "There's nothing that can't be fixed." He whispered in his boss's ear and felt him shudder. "You don't understand anything Chase." House shot back heavily, a little harshly, and Chase shook his head happily. "I do, House. I really do. We're the same. I had a hard time when I was young and you, well…"

"Don't talk about things you don't know anything about," House growled at him, "You have no idea what I was like before you knew me. Before my leg." The cripple placed a hand in the both of the Australian's and his other in the soft hair on his shoulder, twirling strands of it between his fingers and drawing circles in it slowly. Chase sighed quietly and made a small happy noise before saying; "I know enough to make relatively accurate guesses." House chuckled; "Okay… what do you know then?" He inquired after a short pause, but then he resumed his stroking of the blond hair.

Chase sat up and lifted his head off the other's shoulder, but kept his hands over House's, gripping them with his nimble fingers. "I know that you were always as dislikeable even before your accident. That means something happened to you way before that. Perhaps when you were only a kid." He affirmed, and when he looked up at House's eyes, he saw that they had lost a little of their shimmer. "Maybe not. Maybe I'm just a bastard." House replied quite coldly, making Chase laugh under his breath; "I don't think so. No one's that awful."

This made House laugh vaguely too, "I am." He said with a smile and Chase stuck out his tongue. Before he could suck it back in however, House bent down and bit on it slightly. Chase squealed and House decided not to be cruel, he let go of it and Chase stored it back inside his mouth safely. "Hey!! That was…"

"Not just sex." House replied with a smirk, "Isn't that what you wanted?" He asked nonchalantly and Chase grimaced, "I was going to say uncalled for and… surprising. But it was… yeah, okay…" He trailed off but kept mumbling under his breath, making House chuckle. "Stop blabbing nonsense, you sound like a little girl." Chase pouted, "Yeah, at least I'm not an old goat like you." This made House frown and Chase realized how much his accent had come out in that statement. He smirked and, to make a diversion, head-butted House's chest. "Hey! Careful – crippled over here." The latter stated, though with a smile.

"Cripple, maybe, but still fun!" Chase told him, leaning forwards to nibble House's bottom lip rowdily and the latter responded quite vigorously. The heat of the moment from earlier was starting to return as they kissed and Chase began to take control of things.

As he lay under the Aussie, letting him have his way this time, House really believed for several blissful moments that he could live like this… Maybe he could come to love Chase one day like he once had loved Stacy. It seemed far away and impossible to reach for, but Chase seemed to believe in it.

If Chase did, then why couldn't he believe in something better too?


	7. Reasons

Okay I lied! There are in fact three chapters left. This one, the next and the final one. So… yeah. The next one will be done next weekend probably, as I'm very busy with exams and stuff.

So normal procedure applies here, I do not own House, M.D., thank you! Enjoy. :)

**Chapter Seven**

**Reasons**

----

Something moved around him, disturbing the warmth. A cool slip of fresh air ran over his newly exposed skin, making him shiver slightly. He opened one eye, then two, and saw House had woken up and was sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked up at him, but he could only see his naked back and his head from down here, so he sat up too and crawled out from under the bedcovers towards him, hugging him from behind.

He felt House jump nearly imperceptibly and his head turned so he could look at him. "Hey…" Chase said quietly and House smiled. "Hey." He responded gruffly then said, "It's five thirty… we should go eat supper elsewhere if we don't want to run into Wilson." Chase looked up, "I thought it didn't matter anymore…?" He teased, poking him in the ribs with his index and House smirked, "I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet."

It suddenly hit Chase that it must be hard for House to say things like that, to express what he's feeling, so he tried to keep that in mind so he wouldn't get uncomfortable. "Okay." He agreed and got up to locate his clothes. House watched him dress with that unnerving calculating stare of his and Chase fidgeted a little, making him laugh. "We've had sex and you're uneasy at being watched get dressed?" Chase smirked, "I'm not uneasy! It's just that way you look at me that's weird." House bit his lip to refrain from further argument and stood up too, momentarily forgetting about his leg.

Immediately, he hissed in pain and fell back down, slipping off the edge of the bed and onto the cold hard floor. Chase hurried over to aid him in getting back up on the bed. "Are you alright? Do you want your vicodin?" He questioned quickly, while looking around for House's pants, guessing the little bottle would be in there. "It's at the hospital," House grumbled, clenching his teeth in pain, "But no I don't want any right now… I probably shouldn't be standing up too quickly though." He muttered, and Chase watched him glaring daggers at his own leg. If this hadn't been House, it might have found it strange to the point of laughing, but not now. This was anything but funny.

Once House was stable enough, Chase made him lean on him so he could stand and he passed him the first random clothes he got from a half-open drawer. House took them and put them on, then Chase found his cane laying forgotten in the living room and handed it back to its owner, who took it thankfully and finally got up with no apparent problem. They walked out of the apartment in silence until they got outside and were faced with two cars.

"We'll have to take mine." Chase stated, rather uselessly because House was already limping towards it. So the Australian got in the driver's seat and headed no where in particular. "What do you want to eat?" he questioned, turning slightly to House, who was fiddling with the buttons, looking for a suitable radio station. He shrugged, "Italian." He answered simply and, without further ado, Chase took a left turn towards a certain Italian restaurant he quite liked. He usually cooked for himself, but when he went out, he preferred this particular restaurant above all the others he'd tried so far.

They got there shortly and only had to wait a few minutes to get a table. There seemed to be a lot of couples out for supper, and the ambiance was nice. They sat at their table and began to look at the menus in silence, although thanks to his numerous visits here, Chase already knew what he wanted so he put his menu down and looked at House, leaning forwards on his elbows. The cripple kept on reading and flipping through the few pages, oblivious to the attention he was getting from his blond counterpart.

Finally, he seemed to have decided what he wanted because he put down his menu too and looked up at Chase, who didn't bother hiding the fact he'd been staring. The cripple smirked, "Quit that. You're not a school girl." He told him kind of annoyed, making him smile. "I know." Chase decided to change the subject as to not make House too uncomfortable. "Did you choose what you wanted already?"

"Yeah, I'm between the shrimp fusilli, and the penne." He said, flipping to the respective pages slowly. Chase made a non-committal nod, "The fusilli have tomatoes and arugula, so it's kind of peppery. The penne are served with shrimp and artichokes." He explained and House glanced back up at him, "You really know your stuff don't you?" He commented with a smirk and Chase scratched at his chin, looking away. It was really weird having House compliment him.

Just then, the waitress arrived and asked what they would like to drink. Chase asked for Perrier water and House a beer. She wrote them down and Chase said, catching her before she left, "I think we're both decided…?" He glanced at House who nodded so she hung back to take their orders. "I'll have the shrimp penne," House told her and Chase took the zucchini and shrimp risotto. That done, she left and Chase cleared his throat. "I'm seriously wondering when we're going to have a case…" He stated while twiddling his fork between his fingers.

He received a short distracted nod from House, who was looking around at the restaurant. "Do you think Foreman suspects something?" Chase asked suddenly, referring to their earlier staring session in the differential room, which earned him House's full attention. "No – I think he'll just forget about it." He answered sarcastically and Chase made a slight frown. "You don't care?" he questioned. House shrugged, "I don't think Foreman's the type to gossip." House told him and Chase had to wait to reply because the waitress was back with their drinks.

Once she was gone, he took a deep breath and said, "What if he tells Cameron?" He asked quietly, and House shrugged again while taking a sip of his beer. Chase occupied himself with his Perrier to give himself time to ponder what he should say next. Should he tell House about what he'd said to Foreman and Cameron earlier? He would probably be mad at him wouldn't he? House mad would be ruining all the steps they had taken today right? He finally placed the slice of lime on the edge of his glass, filled it with water, took a quick gulp and looked back at House nervously.

The cripple was smirking while looking at the Australian's glass, "Perrier water…" He scoffed and Chase smiled at him, ignoring the comment, "Hey um…" House's eyes shifted up to meet his with an interested air, reassuring him slightly, "Earlier, at work, I… told Cameron and Foreman about your bet. With Wilson." He said rather quickly, leaning in like he was afraid of eavesdroppers. House didn't look very surprised. "You couldn't resist could you? But I already knew; I overheard you." He told him, and a flicker of regret passed on his face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

Chase stared, then shook his head, "You're not angry?" House affirmed, "Nope." And all was well on the subject apparently, because House returned to looking around the restaurant placidly. However, Chase was not done yet; "Well… what if Foreman uses this to I don't know… what if he tells Cameron and she tells Wilson and…"

"Why is all this bothering you so much?" House exclaimed. He then shut his eyes for several seconds, before opening them once more to glance at him seriously. "Can't we just… be normal about all this? I don't want any more complications." Chase stared blandly at him, and then nodded. "Alright, I understand," he said, only glad that House was actually talking to him sincerely, "I want us to be able to talk together about anything, I really do." He affirmed, keeping his eyes locked with the older doctor's, whose face suddenly bore the flicker of a smile.

They were for the third time interrupted by the waitress who deposited their food in front of them. "Would you care for some wine with your food sirs?" She inquired courteously and Chase couldn't stop himself from making a slightly angry face. Alarmed, she turned to House who shook his head, "No thank you." He told her and she nodded before moving away from their table as fast as she could. Chase was a little ashamed at himself; she had no way of knowing he hated alcohol… so why glare at her?

It seemed to amuse House because he was smiling at him, "Aww… waitress got you on the touchy subject?" He taunted, though not as unkindly as expected for him, and Chase took a stab at his food silently. It was delicious as always here. He waited until he had swallowed his first bite before answering. "Look… I wasn't thinking. It was wrong to glare at her like that." He admitted and House faked a concerned face; "It sure was! I hope she'll be okay?" Chase rolled his eyes at him – he seemed to be doing that a lot lately, wasn't he…

They ate in silence for a while, just enjoying the food and each other's presence. After a while, Chase decided to make conversation again, "So do you like my choice of restaurant?" He watched House swallow and nod, "Yeah. I've never been here. You come here often?" Before answering, the Aussie took a few more bites and smiled with his mouth full, "Yeah! I really like this place… when I'm not cooking, I come to eat here."

Unexplainably, House grinned. He couldn't keep himself from feeling happy, and Chase didn't appear to find it strange because he beamed right back at him and they continued to eat silently. He had to admit that he was scared; could he really be in a relationship again? It was looking to be more and more possible as time went by. On one side, he really did want this to go on, but on the other, he was a little afraid of what the next step would be. If only things could be simple… then they would have stayed fuck buddies or something. In fact, none of this would have happened if House hadn't jumped on Chase in the first place.

It had been wrong to use the excuse of not being able to go on without sex… because it was not the case for him. He could have stopped himself, but Chase had been so undeniably _sexy_ that night in his formal wear – House couldn't resist him. Something had clicked. It was wrong, it was weird, and it was outright immoral regarding their positions at work, but he wouldn't have given it up for anything in the world right now.

Even death itself. Not for now. Later, he'd see.

Meanwhile, both doctors were done with their food and House sat back in his chair; "I'm stuffed." He stated and Chase smiled. "I know what you mean. First time you eat here, when you get your plate, you think ahh well that's not so much. But it really does fill your appetite." House returned his statement with a distracted nod, looking at the waitress who was making her way over to their table, having noticed they were both finished. "Can I suggest a dessert? Or coffee?" She inquired as she collected their plates.

Chase smiled; "I'll have a _caffè macchiato_, please." He said this with a rather good Italian accent, even through his usual strong Australian one. It made House smirk and he told the waitress, "I'll have a normal coffee please." She nodded with a slight smile and left to make their coffees. Chase laughed slightly, "Normal coffee…" To which House snarkily remarked, "Yeah, and you're trying to show off with your basic Italian are you?" Chase raised a brow, "Okay, go on; do better than me."

Immediately, House replied, "_Il caffè macchiato è un caffè con un po'di latte._" The Australian stared back numbly. "You… speak Italian?" At this, House feigned a humble look, "Well, not completely. I can have a conversation about food, ask where the bathroom is… y'know." Chase looked impressed, "I never knew that!" And House replied, "I never had any reason to tell you."

The waitress was back, and she put down their coffees in front of them as she said, "Are you all done then?" Chase nodded and was about to take the bill she was holding, but House snatched it out of the waitress's hands before he had time to. "Hey! I'm the one who invited –"

"Come on, I can pay for a simple bill; I'm a doctor!" House told him angrily, but Chase knew by the look in his eyes that he was joking. The waitress did not so she stared slightly, "Okay, well, that pays at the counter up front. Have a nice evening." She said in a rather rushed tone of voice and left again. Chase put his face in his hands, "You're an ass…" he told his boss who smirked, "Don't insult me or I'll have you pay the bill after all." Chase stopped at once, knowing that the prices here generally accompanied the food's quality. He'd wanted to come here because he knew House would like it and he'd been prepared to pay the bill… He should have foreseen that this would fail.

After their coffee, they went to the counter up front to pay the bill and Chase insisted on at least paying the tip. House left him to it and went to help himself in the small bowl of candy on the counter. He returned with a considerable amount stuffed in his pockets and Chase rolled his eyes but didn't comment.

On the drive back to House's apartment, the latter resumed his searching through the radio stations and found one playing some jazz, raised the volume a little and sat back in his seat. Once they were on House's street, the cripple turned off the radio to speak. "Drop me off here, or Wilson might see your car." Chase smirked but didn't say anything about it, and unlocked the doors. House stepped out, turned around to close the door but before he did, he said, "Good night, Chase."

It was more than Chase could have hoped for, "You too." He called out before House closed the car door. His heart was beating uncomfortably hard against his ribcage as he watched the older doctor walk away from the car to his apartment. With a sigh, he drove off to go home too.

----

Wilson wasn't home yet; the apartment was as silent as it had been when he and Chase had left earlier. Two hours to be precise… it was now seven thirty. With nothing better to do, House fell onto the couch, stretching his arms out as he yawned before dropping his hands onto his thigh to rub it firmly.

Things were starting to work out, he thought. When he was with Chase, he managed not to think about the pain too much, and at times he even forgot about his reasons for wanting to die. Showers were excruciating though – that's when he felt the pain from the rape the most. Sometimes when he was sleeping, too. But Chase was helping to deal with his pain. More than Vicodin. More than morphine, damn it! He knew it wouldn't last forever, but he wanted to make the most of it.

Still, making the most of it was not falling in love with Chase.

Because he wasn't. That was crazy.

When a commercial break came up, he got up and limped to the kitchen for a beer. On his way, he stopped and stared at his piano. Something was not right… That's when he saw it – Chase's bag. He remembered watching the blond drop it next to the piano earlier when he had arrived. How could he have forgotten it? Wasn't his wallet in there? No, he remembered in a vivid flash, Chase had used his wallet to pay the tip at the restaurant. He kept his wallet in his back pocket. Damn.

He shuddered to think what might have happened if Wilson would have arrived before him. When he checked his watch, he saw that it was nearly a quarter to eight. Wilson would be here very soon, and House was already lucky the oncologist had not arrived earlier. _Then_, that would have been it.

So he limped to the piano, picked up the bag and carried it to his bedroom where he pushed it under the bed, nearest to the wall as he could. Then he turned to go get that beer, but paused in the doorway. _Hm… I wonder –?_ He twirled back to face the bed and got on his knees to retrieve the bag. He quickly opened it and searched through its contents.

A comb and a brush were the first things he came across. God, was it possible for that man to be any girlier? He smirked. Probably… keep searching. Then he found a little purse-mirror which just plain made him laugh out loud. At least it wasn't attached to some foundation with a little powder puff or something. Then the blond would have had some explaining to do. He smiled and continued his intrusive rummaging of the bag. There was a binder which when he looked at the peeling sticker read, _Notes_. Indeed, he quickly flipped through it and found it was full of notes in Chase's handwriting about cases they had solved.

He set the binder next to him on the bed and continued his search until he came across some kind of wallet. What use did Chase have for two wallets? When he opened it he realized it was not a wallet, but a small photo album. Photos of people from Australia he suspected as he looked through them quickly. There were a few of Chase when he was young, all wide-eyed with his blond hair longer, and big puffy cheeks. Almost… _cute_, House dared to think as he looked at the young Chase. No, way too cute. He was about to set the album aside when he noticed there was another photo behind the ones he could see.

A photo Chase didn't want anyone but himself to see?

Interesting.

House slid his finger under the plastic cover separating the photo from the one underneath, retrieved the small piece of paper and pulled it out. He'd been mistaken – it was not a photograph, but a letter-format piece of paper folded in four. He frowned, then unfolded it and saw that there was writing on it. Then he paused; Chase surely didn't want anyone to read this did he? But curiosity won him over and he looked at it.

It wasn't actually writing, but a drawing of House. And a rather accurate one at that. He was awed by it; how on earth had Chase captured the details of his face this well? It's not like he'd had a reference picture, no, Chase didn't own pictures of House; that much was sure. Then it was because Chase really knew what he looked like. It was nearly scary. He stared at it in amazement for another few seconds before noticing that there was in fact writing underneath the drawing. He had to read it several times before his mind grasped the meaning clearly. It was written; _But I Love Him._

The letters were elegant; obviously Chase had taken his time to write them because his handwriting was usually pretty untidy. House stared at the drawing one last time, drinking in its details before folding it neatly and stashing it back into its cover behind the same photograph he'd found it behind, taking care to replace it exactly as he had discovered it. Then he replaced the photo album and the binder in the bag and continued his silent searching of it. There was nothing more of interest in the bag – the only other things he found were several empty candy bar wrappers and a pack of condoms. Nothing unusual there.

Therefore he closed the bag and replaced it under the bed for good. Then he got up once more to go get that beer. Once done, he slumped back onto the couch. Just in time, too; no sooner was he sat back down did he hear a key turn in the lock and the door opened. "Long day at work?" He called out, feigning a concerned house-wife voice; "It's nearly eight!" he heard Wilson sigh as he kicked off his shoes and came to join him sloppily. "Yeah… patients dying." House hummed in response and they fell silent after that.

Nothing out of the ordinary; Wilson made a quick supper, then they watched TV some more and House left to bed while Wilson took the couch.

----

House was rather irritated when he was awoken by his cell phone at six AM, but he answered it nonetheless. His pager he might have ignored, but his cell phone meant it was important. Maybe he'd turned his pager off anyway. Yeah, that must've been it.

"What?!" He snapped grouchily when he answered the call and Chase's voice reached his ears, "Patient. 22-year-old female and her ten month old baby. Presenting with seizures –"

"What both of them?"

"Yes! Look, I was working in the NICU when this came up and I thought the case was a bit strange. I need your help." Chase sounded pleading so House gave in, "All right all right. Just, you call Cameron and Foreman and I'll get right over there." He barely registered the sound of Chase's voice saying he would call them and closed his cell phone before getting out of bed, tiredly rubbing his eyes. He absent-mindedly reached into his pockets for his bottle of vicodin, and remembered it was still at the hospital. That thought alone was enough to make a heavy jolt of pain streak through his leg and halfway up his spine. He cringed but got up anyway, trying to ignore it.

His mind was screaming for vicodin, but he tried to think of Chase. Tch. Yeah, like that would work. He only needed to concentrate on getting to the PPTH quickly, before his pain became too bad. It had only been thirteen hours since he'd last taken some pills, but it was already too much for him…

When he got to the hospital, he immediately made his way to the differential room where he found only two of his ducklings sitting at the table. "Where's Barbie?" He questioned and Cameron frowned. Foreman sighed however and said, "In the NICU… But we have patients, come on." House felt the urge to go down to the NICU and pull Chase back up here, but ignored it for the time being. He felt a painful twinge in his thigh however, so he went to his office quickly and located the bottle of vicodin on the floor exactly where he'd left it the day before.

Popping two pills, he limped back to the conference room and positioned himself at the whiteboard, facing his minions. "Okay. Symptoms?" He said, while he separated the board in two; on one side, _mommy_ and on the other, _baby_. Foreman sighed. "The mother had a seizure in the bathtub and dropped the baby in the water." To which House scoffed, "Boooring. Seizures are fun to watch, but uninteresting to diagnose." As he twirled the pen in his fingers after writing seizure on the board, he looked around at the room and said, "There's no reason for Chase to be in the ER. Unless he fell off his polo pony or something." His two ducklings shot him disbelieving looks and Cameron rolled her eyes.

House stared. "That means get him up here." He added and Foreman butted in; "Can't we just concentrate on the case? Chase'll get back up here alone soon enough." Cameron nodded. "So look. She has abnormal calcium levels. This can't be explained by epilepsy." And House threw his head backwards, tapping his cane, "Still bored." He stated.

"House!" Cameron said, "I know what you're getting at. But all those reasons this case bores you… The ER has already ruled them out."

----

Having sent Cameron and Foreman to perform a few tests, House decided to take matters into his own hands, taking the elevator down to NICU to find Chase. He looked around for a bit, and abruptly met with the blond in a doorway.

Chase bounded back and gasped slightly. "Hey." He stated as a greeting, before dodging him and starting to walk away. House grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to face him. "What do you want? I'm busy!" Chase told him irately, and House pulled a face. "What are you doing down here?" He inquired and Chase returned his grimace.

"Cuddy said I have to be here." He mumbled slowly. House snorted, "No she didn't. I can see it when you're lying Chase." There was a silence, and Chase sighed heavily. "The NICU is short on staff these days and –"

"No it isn't," House interrupted, "No one's quit NICU in at least four years." Chase's face became even more irritated as he retorted, "Will you stop it? What is it to you if I'm working down here? You don't care." House smirked at him, cocking his head, "Of course I do… we're a team!" He told the Australian in a phony concerned voice. "I think," he went on, "That _you asked _Cuddy to be given shifts down here."

In under a second, Chase's face went from annoyed, to petrified, to amused. "Why would I do that?" He questioned, shaking his hands around slightly, "I don't need to." He told House, who took a step forwards, looming down at him.

"Why don't you want to work for me?" He asked, in a casual voice but still pressuring the younger doctor with his intense stare. Chase frowned and House went on; "I'm nice… Fun at parties, in bed –" Chase scowled, "I'm not working in NICU because of you." He stated in a matter-of-fact tone and House nodded, "Sure." Though he didn't sound convinced at all. Chase sighed heavily. "Look… I needed a break. It's… hard. With patients lying to us all the time and you didn't help with your suicide attempts. I need a break from all that stuff. Just for a while."

House stared back nonchalantly, then scoffed; "What a load of crap." Chase took a step back, and House took another one forwards, smirking more than ever, "What, is this how you get it on with the nurses? Just throw a bit of that vulnerability shit? In the meantime… That baby needs ECMO." Chase gaped at him, then shook his head, "No. That'll kill him."

He followed House as the latter walked back to the elevator, "We can't do it. There must be some other way…" House stopped to face him before entering the elevator, stopping the door with his foot; "Alright then. Do it your way. We'll see… there's nothing more honest than a dead baby." Then he walked into the elevator, ignoring Chase's incredulous look.

----

At the end of the day, nothing much had changed; the baby was now on ECMO treatment, and his condition had not improved or worsened yet, but the mother was getting worse. House was getting ready to leave the hospital, but he descended to NICU to find Chase. He found him almost immediately and walked up to him, "Hey? Coming home?" He asked rather loudly but Chase didn't look up from the baby he was examinating.

"No…" He replied swiftly, "I still have some work to do in NICU tonight." House grinned, "I can wait." And Chase looked up at last with a dismissed expression; "I'm taking a night shift." House stopped in his tracks, then scratched his temple. He looked around briefly, then retrieved something from his pocket and shook it in Chase's face. "Here… your paycheck."

Chase looked at him, then reached out to take the envelope, but House pulled it away from him and stared at him with a puzzled look. "You've been double-dipping. Why does rich boy need money suddenly." He asked starkly and Chase heaved a sigh; "I'm not rich." He said, his annoyed face from earlier returning. House shrugged, "Okay. But daddy was. And now he's dead. Since you're not rich… I have to assume it means daddy pulled you off his will." He instantly knew his deductions were correct when Chase looked away briefly, before lifting his hand up again to grab the envelope. This time he caught it and glared right back at House, "Not rich." He stated plainly.

To which House smirked, puckered his lips and picked at his chin, "So you're really not coming home…?" He asked again and Chase looked up with slightly widened eyes, "No witty comments about me being suddenly broke?" House shrugged, "Not unless you want me to." He said before smiling slightly, "I'll have to spend the evening eating takeout with Wilson then I guess…" He stated, in a poor attempt to make Chase come with him.

Of course it did not work; Chase shrugged indifferently and said, "See you tomorrow then." House chose not to reply as he left the NICU rapidly, and went to find Wilson. He wasn't surprised to find the oncologist in his office, sitting in his chair. He jumped up when House entered, "Hey where were you?" He asked and House dismissed the question with a flick of his hand, "Anyway," Wilson went on, "I'm not coming home with you." House spun round from shuffling through the papers on his desk to stare at him.

"And why?" He inquired, tilting his head to the side. What could be more important to Wilson than eating takeout and watching soaps with him? The answer came quickly enough; Wilson rubbed his neck nervously and said, arm falling to the side, "I have dinner. With Cuddy."

House stared. "Wow… nice one." He stated, sounding malicious, and Wilson pressed, "Hey! _She_ invited _me_. Not the contrary." He told his friend, in an attempt to make things clear. Although it didn't really work; House replied with a smirk, "So? Still means you'll have fun." Wilson shook his head sadly; "You're unbelievable you know that? Maybe it's nothing! You know… just a dinner between friends. Or… I dunno…"

"Yeah, I dunno…" House repeated after him, "Something like, possibly… A date?" He told the oncologist, who started to pace around House's office nervously, "What if it isn't? Maybe it's something medically related?" He posed wildly and House cocked his head, "Hmm… considering she invited an oncologist?" this made Wilson stop and stare at him, bewildered. "You think she might have cancer?"

"Maybe she thinks she has cancer. Maybe it's not a date… but a consult." House speculated slowly and Wilson's shoulders drooped. Then he checked his watch; "Well, we'll know soon enough. I'll go now other wise I'll be late. I can walk to the restaurant from here and she can probably give me a lift." House nodded and waved his hand at the oncologist's departure.

Then he sighed and sat in his chair. Now he had nothing to do tonight. He'd called his poker mates already to tell them the game was off, so he had to go back to an empty apartment alone. He would never have admitted it to anyone, but he was afraid of being alone in his apartment now. That was partly why he hadn't asked Wilson to move out yet. On normal terms, he would have had him out by now, but he needed to know someone was there. He had Chase of course, but it wasn't like he was going to ask Chase to move in right? No, certainly not. Because then it would all have to come out publicly, and it would also mean…

It would mean that what they had, whatever they had, was really not just sex. House couldn't live with that. It frightened him to no end. He knew he could not be in a real relationship anymore. Never again could he feel in love. Because he'd realized that this wasn't love what he was feeling. Just relief.

Deciding he should get home, he got up and took the elevator to the lobby. When he exited the lobby, he saw Cameron walking out of the hospital ahead of him. She looked happy. She _was_ happy. _She_ had nothing to worry about. He could tell she was still concerned for him, but it was alright. He'd deal with it anyway. Soon.

----

Once at his apartment, he slumped down on the couch and something stirred in his memory. That's when he remembered he hadn't returned the bag to Chase. And obviously, Chase had not noticed he'd forgotten it. Probably because he was too caught up in his work at the NICU. That must be it; he'd found out last night that he was getting no money from his father, so he'd immediately called Cuddy to get some work in the NICU. It was pathetic.

But hell, what did he know? Maybe Chase needed some time off him after all? House thought it was more than possible. He himself annoyed the hell out of himself, so he could easily perceive that he must annoy Chase too. Why did everyone around him annoy him so much? It was a rhetorical question to himself, that he kept on asking over and over in his mind, never to get an answer.

Well, duh. Wasn't that what rhetorical meant?

House growled at himself suddenly. It was peculiar; like a dog growling at a cat, ready to run after it. Except that he was growling at nothing. He was just really annoying himself. Again with the mental arguing! He wanted it to stop.

He got up from the couch and went to the kitchen. Maybe beer would help somehow. A little voice told him it would just make everything worse later on, but he shoved it off, searching through the fridge. He got a beer, uncapped it and was about to take a gulp when a mental image of Chase appeared in his mind.

Right… Chase's mom was an alcoholic. That was why the Australian doctor's life sucked then… She was dead, and Chase hated alcohol… Abruptly, House found himself standing in front of the kitchen sink, tipping the whole bottle of beer down it. He growled again, placed the now empty bottle with a bang on the counter, and went to the fridge to get another one. He uncapped it, and tipped all its content down the sink too. The he got a third beer and did the same thing. Again with a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and soon there was no beer left in the fridge; they were all standing empty on the countertop next to the sink.

There must've been two whole 24-packs on the counter. He shuddered; that was enough alcohol to make him pass out and die eventually… With the amount of vicodin he had in his system, too… He had taken two this morning when he got to the hospital, two others at lunch and two more this afternoon.

He hated himself; really. No, he hated humanity. He was just so pissed off at the world right now. Nothing could make it better. Maybe he wasn't even supposed to stay here? What if death was better than all this? He wanted to know. He wasn't in the least bit scared of death. In fact, as time went by, it was making him even more curious. Maybe death would bring him something good?

That's when his decision was made. He went back to his living-room, and climbed up with a small stool to reach up to his box or morphine on top of his bookcases. He got it down from there, put it under his arm, and went to his bedroom. There, he crawled under the bed and retrieved Chase's messenger bag. Next he went outside, and climbed in his car, heading strait for Chase's apartment.

While driving, he got out his cell phone and called the intensivist, who responded after three rings; "What is it now House?" He asked in a tired drone. House cleared his throat and said; "I'm at your apartment," it wasn't really a lie, he was nearly there anyway, "And you'd better get over here. I've got some fun toys to play with."

House was sure the Australian was blushing, and made a face at the fact he wasn't there to witness it. "Um…" Chase replied, rather staggered, "Look, House, we can play later right? I'm really busy. You're a big boy; you can entertain yourself alone for a while okay." He told his boss, not without a hint of mischievousness. However, he made it clear that he wasn't going to abandon a night of pay to come 'play' with whatever he supposed House had bought in a sex shop.

"No. You misunderstood my meaning." House informed him. "I'm saying you'd better get over here in less than twenty minutes, because I have a whole stash of morphine with me and I'm not afraid to 'play' with it." He said with a smirk he knew Chase could not see. It was, however, very low on the list of Chase's concerns apparently, because the intensivist shouted, "HOUSE! What – God, House, why d'you – stay where you are – I'm coming!"

"I intend to." House told him, straight before hearing the dial tone indicating Chase had hung up. Then he dropped his phone in the seat next to him, having arrived at destination and leant back to relax while he waited for Chase, parked in front of the latter's apartment. About ten minutes later; a flash of headlights turned the corner, heading towards him. He grinned, watched the car come to a halt behind his and saw someone coming out of it. He sighed; soon it'll be over, he thought.

----


	8. Absolution

Hi! Well here you are; the before-final chapter. I have to admit I had fun writing this… even if what happens isn't really fun. So here you go, and next chapter will be written and posted by next weekend. I really have to finish it this week, because next week, my finals kick in, and then I won't have much time to write.

I DSCLAIM any rights regarding House, M.D., its characters or plot. So, here, enjoy.

**Chapter Eight**

**Absolution**

----

Chase came into view when he passed under a streetlight and he hurried to House's car and, stopping in front of the driver's window with a startled face. House waved at him through the glass, which only proved to infuriate Chase further. He mouthed; 'Get out of there!' And House pulled his tongue, but complied, taking Chase's bag with him.

Once out he was out, Chase rounded on him; "What is your goddamned problem?" He asked with a snarl and House smiled; "I don't really know."

"Do you know that I could get in trouble for quitting my shift like that? It is not funny at all!" He told House angrily, hands on his hips, and made to storm off. House lunged out at him and grabbed him by the shoulders. "No Chase. I really have the morphine." He asserted, seriously all of a sudden, and Chase's face stiffened. "So…" He began slowly and House finished the sentence for him; "So I'm going to kill myself."

Chase's face softened now, and he turned completely to face his boss. "But why are you telling me? I… I don't want you to kill yourself House. You know I don't." After a brief silence, House nodded, "Yes I do, but I didn't want to leave without you knowing. You've done so much for me." It was hard for him to say this, as Chase noticed by his pained expression. "But I haven't," the bond doctor said, "I've done nothing at all…"

"You may not understand it, but I've realized many things from these past days with you." House told him, still grasping him by the shoulders. "Let's… uhh," Chase began, stammering, "Go in my apartment." House nodded and followed him through the windy night up the stairs to said apartment. Once they were inside, House removed his coat and shoes, and Chase only his shoes, having not bothered to take his coat on his way out of the hospital less than a quarter hour ago. The Aussie scratched his head slowly, and turned on the spot, pacing nervously around the room. He glanced time-to-time at House for a while until deciding to stop and came to face him again.

House held out his messenger bag for him to take, "You forgot it yesterday." He said quietly and Chase took it without breaking eye contact. "Don't hate me for this. Please." The older man told him, staring into his employee's blue-green eyes deeply, "It's enough for me to hate myself. You don't deserve to be miserable."

The look on Chase's face was practically beyond description; his eyes adorned compassion, but he looked scared and filled with sorrow at the same time. It took great courage for House to say what he said next. "Look Chase… I want to die." At these words, Chase's eyesight became a little blurry from his impending tears, but he didn't have the will-power in his trembling hands to wipe them away. So he blinked several times instead, causing one to roll down the curve of his cheek slowly. He saw House's face soften the slightest as he went on, "I know you love me. That's why this is so hard. For both of us."

Chase chocked faintly, "Yet… you still want to die and leave me here… without you…" He stated in a disappointed kind of voice, "I don't understand." He admitted, a slight frown forming on his forehead. House smirked, licked his lips slowly and led Chase to the couch where they sat next to each other and House took a deep breath.

He wasn't quite sure what he could say to explain that might suffice… "Nothing can make me change my mind. I thought you would. But you made me realize I can't go through the rest of my life not sure if I can love again. I'd want to… love you… but I'm too broken."

He sighed hopelessly, feeling a little dumb that he couldn't explain what he was feeling, and heard Chase sigh too. "Of course I can't force you to love me. I tried to fix you… or rather, I wanted to try. Won't you let me?" House's brows furrowed and he closed his eyes as he said painstakingly; "I'm sorry."

It was possibly the first time Chase heard House say those words so truthfully. "I'm done with life – that's all." House told him. With a remotely shocked face, Chase turned his head around to stare at him. "That's it? You're not… scared? Worried?" He asked quickly and House shook his head. It had already been decided in his mind that death itself was no longer an issue, rather the complications that came with it. He'd had doubts about the desire to end his life after his first attempt, which had been purely impulsive, but it had never completely left him.

Ever since, it had been a part of him, even in his few moments of hope for a future with Chase, he could not ignore it. "Death doesn't scare me." He admitted, "It will only be liberation from my pain."

"I'm sorry to be asking this again… but is this really only because you were raped?" Chase inquired hesitantly and House turned to him swiftly.

"No," House replied immediately, "I turned down the only woman I'd ever really loved in my life for the second time, and…" he paused, taking several sharp inhales before going on, "Every day I have to live with this unmanageable pain. My leg… I just can't do it. I managed for five years up until now, but it's getting worse and…" He left his sentence unfinished but Chase nodded anyway. "I'm not quite sure if I understand," He confessed, "but I realize there's nothing I can do."

He shifted closer to House, now sitting sideways on the sofa, and House turned to him hastily with slightly widened eyes. Chase smiled softly and House made a troubled face; "I'm just trying to make you consider it from my point of view. It's not necessarily a bad thing." He reasoned and Chase looked away, "But you're still abandoning." He stated calmly, though disappointed. House watched his employee playing with his hair absent-mindedly with his fingers and spoke only when he'd finished; "I'll admit that." He told Chase harshly, "But I have to."

It was said as to make a point of this part of the conversation being final. "This is all because you decided to visit me in the Psych Ward for some reason." House said thoughtfully and Chase returned his gaze to him, "I needed to see you. From the moment I saved your life, I… felt a connection with you. I've always respected you; you know that, but suddenly… I saw something in you I had never seen before." He drifted off, not sure what more to say.

"Care to explain your point?" House pressed, bearing a confounded look and Chase scratched his head slowly. "I… don't really know. Like I said; I've always respected you, but suddenly… it was like you really _mattered_ to me."

"You love me." House completed for him and Chase appeared stunned, "I…" He said slowly, voice shaking, and House interrupted his stammering to say; "I found your drawing." And Chase stared, "You… looked through my stuff?" He asked incredulously, with an air of being angry, but not quite. Maybe he'd _wanted_ to show House, but couldn't. Perhaps he'd wanted House to find it? Either way, he was still a little offended that House had searched though his bag, but in the end, it was House after all.

"Oh who do you take me for, Chase? I would never do that!" House replied sarcastically and Chase smirked. "Anyway… I didn't know you could draw like that. I have to say I'm impressed." He said with a small smile and Chase appeared shy all of a sudden. "Oh… well thank you…" House's smile widened and he asked; "Why didn't you show it to me? You've had plenty of occasions to."

With a downcast, anxious expression, Chase told him, "I though you'd think it's creepy. That I drew you." After a moment, he added, "Because you have a tendency to be paranoid." House nodded, "Yeah I do, But I wouldn't have thought it was creepy… Unless you've got twenty other drawings of me somewhere." He looked back at Chase with a grin and saw the startled expression on the blond's face. "What? Do you really have twenty other drawings of me?" He asked in disbelief and Chase shook his head, "Not twenty! Just… two others."

House smirked. "Okay. Nothing creepy about that." He stated calmly and Chase changed the subject quickly. "So… what now…?" It sounded like a question, but it was empty and hopeless, as if Chase really hadn't wanted to say it. That probably was the case anyway.

"Well," House started with a deep sigh, "I haven't really thought this over." He admitted, and Chase continued to stare shiftily at him. "I'll overdose on morphine I guess. But not here." He grasped his box of morphine tightly and looked at it like he could never look at it enough. Nearly _adoringly_. Chase hated it. He cleared his throat and asked, "At the hospital?" At once House looked up at him and shrugged. "That's better than here. Or than at my apartment for that matter. Wilson will be home around midnight probably, so I can't go there."

With a frown, Chase checked his watch. "Why not? It's only eight thirty." He posed and shuddered at the thought that House would have the time to kill himself by midnight. What was even more disgusting was that he wanted to. House was slowly shaking his head with a thoughtful look and he stood up. Chase followed him, scared of what he was going to do, but House just stayed standing there, leaning on his cane with the box of morphine tucked under his other arm. He had a distant stare for several more moments, until he stared back at Chase with a deadly serious look.

"Chase… I want to leave you all my money." He said and Chase's jaw dropped. "You _what?!_ No way – House, you can't do that! You're – I –"

"I can and I will." House interrupted, still with the same serious look, "You need the money, and I obviously won't be needing it, so I'm giving it to you. Think of it as my way of thanking you. You deserve it." He told Chase promptly, and the intensivist just shook his head incredulously, taking a short step back. "No way… I could never accept that." House's gaze hardened, "There's nothing you can do. I'm writing a suicide letter and I'm stating that I'm giving my money to you. It was supposed to go to my mom and stuff, and I'll still give her some, but you're getting most of it."

Chase's mouth opened and closed several times, but he was unable to speak. House smirked, "You need it." He repeated and Chase hung his head, closing his mouth for the last time. "Yeah…" He admitted softly, knowing that House had won. Knowing more importantly that he could never win against House in a situation such as this, he had to realize he had no choice. House nodded and went to the hallway, probably to put his coat and shoes back on.

Chase followed him quietly, kind of disappointed that this was it, and stopped in front of House when he saw that the latter was standing still in the hallways, staring at the door. He hadn't even touched his coat or shoes. "What…" Chase began and House interrupted him once more; "Do you… want… to make love?" He asked rather casually, as if it was as normal as a question could get. Chase was yet again startled, and stared at House, not sure how to interpret this.

He wasn't getting any clues from House, who was wearing an unreadable mask, making it impossible for Chase to know what he was thinking. It suddenly annoyed him to the highest extent he'd ever been annoyed at House. "Will you stop it with the games already?" He growled angrily and House's eyes widened slightly.

"I mean, how do you think this makes me feel? You're going to kill yourself! And you're asking if… if I want to have sex? What is that – like a dying wish or something?" He snapped and House clenched his teeth all of a sudden, in an expression of pain. "I didn't ask if you wanted to have sex Chase," He corrected numbly, "I asked if you wanted to make love."

This startled Chase to the fullest extent, and he stared back at House with a half-annoyed, half-confused face. "I…" He said with a throaty voice, "You mean…" House nodded; "You love me. I know you do. I'm ready to die, but the reason I told you I wanted to die, or more like the reasons, were that I knew you would understand, or at least let me go through with it, and because I… wanted to say goodbye to you properly. Once again, you deserve it." Chase gaped at him and let his arms fall limply to his sides, shoulders drooped.

He was very tempted to say yes. On the other hand however, he couldn't stand the thought of having House… feeling that House might possibly love him back for only a short period of time and having to watch him die afterwards. It was horrifying. Not only would it be torture, he wouldn't be able to live with himself afterwards. That wasn't love, right? Chase had, in truth, never really been in love before. He'd been in couples before and everything, but that was different than love. What he felt with House was different, and if that wasn't love, well he didn't think he'd ever love someone. Not as much as House anyway.

He'd saved House's life, three times now, which made him feel like they had a bond somehow. Obviously House saw it too, because otherwise this would not have gone on. Chase just could not justify doing this if it was only for him. He knew House was proposing it out of self-sacrifice. The only thing House wanted to do was to die now.

"No." He said firmly. "I respect you… and… I can't do it. I'll feel guilty." House gave him a weird look, but shrugged. "I know you don't understand," Chase told him, "But I don't understand you either. I never will." With a short nod, House put on his coat and slipped on his shoes, Chase did the same, and they went back to House's car.

They drove in silence to the hospital, and it was the longest trip to the hospital of Chase's life. It only took roughly between ten and fifteen minutes, but Chase watched every moment go by with painful throbs in his chest and an unpleasant squirm in his stomach. He wanted to hold onto every last second, staring at House while he drove to his death. The cripple either did not notice his staring, or he simply did not care because he didn't once look back at Chase, who noticed this with a sad tinge in his heart.

When they got to the hospital at last, House went to the medicine stock closet. Chase followed him without a word and waited outside while House looked through it. After a few minutes, he emerged from the room with a small box in his hands that Chase did not recognize. He wondered what it was but didn't feel like asking. It most likely was a box of syringes or something. House locked the door of the closet and they went up to his office afterwards, where House closed the blinds and locked the doors.

The cripple then sat in his computer chair and got some paper and a pen. Chase sat facing him on the other side of the desk, but found he couldn't look at him. He was staring at the box containing the morphine with slight hatred. He knew it was stupid, because even if it had not existed, House could have killed himself by any other means, but he still hated it. It was a mere shoebox, brown with holes in the side of it. It looked worthless and dull, but it held what was going to take House's life. Tears blurred Chase's eyes and he forced himself to look back at his boss who was writing on the sheet of paper.

The small desk lamp was emitting a soft yellowish light which amplified the shadows, making the already sunken and worn out face of House look even older. He looked tired, and it filled Chase with indescribable sadness. He felt helpless and pathetic, watching House writing his suicide letter slowly. He briefly wondered what it said. After about five minutes, House put down his pen and placed the sheet of paper in the middle of his desk, putting all the other ones aside or in the garbage.

"This has got to be the worst suicide letter in history." He stated, rereading it quickly. Then he looked back at Chase. "I… I got this box of Potassium Chloride instead." He said rather calmly, as if discussing the weather, "It'll be quicker than Morphine." Chase didn't reply, merely kept on staring at House, unable to blink. House heaved a sigh and tapped his cane on the ground several times. "I'm sorry Chase."

"You're not." Chase told him, still staring into space, "You're just trying to make me feel better." With a nod, House replied, "Maybe I am. At least you still have the intelligence to see what I really am. I'm worth nothing."

Chase made an appalled face, "How can you say that? You're – I mean, how many times had Cuddy refused, risked everything, just so she could keep you here? Remember Voglar?" He told him angrily and House clenched his teeth. "I just… Forget it. You can't understand." He sighed again and scratched his chin while Chase put his face in his hands wearily. "Maybe if you explained I could."

"There's nothing to explain." House responded in a tired tone of voice, "And it is not just because of… the rape…" he continued quietly, closing his eyes, "That was a trigger. But I'm finished. Life has given me all it has. I can't go on living in all this crap." He opened his eyes to glance at Chase, who fidgeted a little.

"What do you mean? You think… death will be better?" Chase asked apprehensively and House nodded slowly, "Death will be much, much better. The way I imagine it, I'll be pain-free and… there'll be music." He commented, closing his eyes again, this time with a slight smile. "You'll be there too." He said, probably in direction of Chase, but then again, nothing seemed clear at this point.

"How can you be sure?" Chase asked, "What if… it's not better?" House's eyes shot open and he smirked, "What like _hell_? You know I don't believe that. Death can't be a judgment… I like to think life isn't just a test." He told the blond, in a _it's-final_ kind of tone and Chase gulped. He knew it was time. House stood up and closed the space between them to stare down at Chase silently. Chase shot him a questioning look, and House then walked over to his armchair, taking his box of drugs with him.

At once, Chase leapt from his place and followed his boss to the armchair, watching the latter sit down before sitting on the chair next to him. Once he was seated, House threw his cane away, where it fell to the floor a few meters away just beside the desk before he turned his gaze back to Chase.

At that moment, his eyes were so blue… Chase couldn't remember a time when he'd ever seen them as beautiful as they were now. They were cristal-clear but strikingly sapphire as he locked eyes with Chase, who couldn't suppress a sigh and say; "I… I'm going to miss you." He said it suddenly, unable to contain it any longer. House didn't move and Chase grabbed his hand, "I know nothing will stop you probably, but…"

"Nothing will stop me Chase." House finished the sentence for him placidly, then smiled, "You've done all you could. It's not your fault." After a brief pause, he frowned, "And it's not like me to be saying things like this. So…" He drifted off, looking not sure what he should say else and Chase felt his heartbeat quicken suddenly. Maybe it had to do with the way House was looking at him with those clearest of blue eyes…

All he knew was that he couldn't take it any more. He leant in and kissed House firmly, and heard the latter stifle a gasp. But he might also have imagined it because a second later, House was kissing him back hard, like it was his last kiss. Which was the case, incidentally.

Chase pushed all thoughts out of his mind as he concentrated on this kiss, the last kiss he'd ever have with House. He would have wanted to make every second last longer, but he still made the most of it while it lasted. In fact, it was even longer than he'd thought it would be as House moved closer to him in his armchair, causing Chase to throw out a soft moan of arousal. House drew back slowly and licked his lips with a slightly disappointed face. Chase looked up at him, torn between upset and arousal.

"That's what I'll miss the most." House admitted with a strange sort of smile, making Chase's heart race again. He grasped the older doctor's hand again firmly and felt him squeeze his hand back as they stared at each other, wondering what they could say. There was still so much Chase wanted to say… but the words remained unspoken, sometimes he opened his mouth slightly in an attempt to speak, but he never did. He couldn't, and even if he had, he knew it was over. Sometimes, you just had to admit defeat.

One last time, House contemplated Chase's handsome young face and then let go of his hand, closing his eyes. Without another word, he opened the box of Potassium Chloride and fiddled with the syringe. Chase helplessly watched him fill it with 150mg – more than enough to kill him. This was because if not administered in a large enough dose, this drug could be very painful. Knowing this somehow made Chase feel even worse.

Worse was the fact that he was just sitting there watching House do it. On one hand, this was completely insane. It went against everything they had all worked for – House. They had all wanted him to live, and now… It was like Chase was throwing everything away. He knew it was insane. He knew that people would hate him for this if anyone ever found out – he shuddered at the thought; he would definitely never let anyone find out – but he also knew it was all House wanted. And he respected that.

In the end, it all came down to what House wanted right? His life, his choice. Chase believed in that, and House had understood this about him. This was probably why he had told him about what he was about to do, and why Chase was now sitting next to him placidly as House prepared the needle.

The tip of the needle hovered over House's forearm for a moment and he looked at Chase with a deep look. "What I'll miss the most…" He repeated, "Is you." And as Chase opened his mouth to speak, House pricked himself with the needle and injected the whole dose of drug into his cephalic vein firmly.

It seemed unreal, like part of a dream, the way House suddenly looked so distant, but also peaceful, untroubled. He sat back and stared warmly at Chase, who could only imagine what his boss was feeling like. _Whatever he's seeing,_ Chase decided as he watched House smiling, _it's something he likes._ He reminded himself that House had wanted this. Then it occurred to him that this was his last chance of stating his final words to House. He knew there was only a few seconds left, so he said the first things that came to mind; "Good luck!"

If House had not been wearing such a distant expression, his face could have been interpreted as a grin as he replied; "Heh… figures you'd say something like that… as your… last words… to me…" His voice became faint and Chase took his hand again. House then closed his eyes, only to open them once more a second later. He threw a mild confused look at his employee and muttered faintly; "Chase…"

The following second, his blue eyes sort of lost their shine, although in a single, beautiful moment; they lit up in what must have been an attempt at a smile before they closed once more, for the last time. His breathing steadied out and Chase watched in a sort of twisted fascination as House's lips parted to let out a final resonating sigh, which marked the end of it. No more movement came from him at all, no more steady rise and fall of his chest was perceptible as, in absolution, his body gave into death.

Chase closed his eyes tightly, so much that it nearly hurt and tears burned the corners of his eyes. He struggled to keep a straight face but his tears were coming on harder than he had anticipated. Forcing himself to look back at House helped somehow, he sniffled and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He had known this would come… so he had to be a man. House hadn't wanted him to cry. So he stood up and went to House's desk, located the note and sat on the computer chair to read it.

He didn't touch it, as if it would leave evidence of him being here. It probably would anyway, because a suicide note such as this would surely be analyzed to prove it was really written by House. It read;

_Hello whoever finds this note first,_

_Don't be sad. I understand your incapacity to understand why the hell I would do this, and it is intended. I have not left any clues, no hidden message, anything. So don't waste your time trying to 'figure it out'. I was in too much pain – end of story._

_Wilson: You can have my apartment and stuff. You were a good friend alright? All you could have done to help me… well, you did. And by the way, you owe me six hundred bucks (I'm being serious!). Although, considering the amount of money I still owe you…You can keep it._

_Cuddy: This isn't your fault. There, is that clear enough for you? Don't feel sorry. You did everything that was in your power to do so._

_Ducklings: Foreman and Chase… go pat Cameron's back while she cries. I'm leaving you guys with Foreman in charge of Diagnostics. Trust me, you'll do just great without me. Chase: I'm leaving you three quarters of my money. You're the one who needs it most. Rest goes to my mom._

_Goodbye now_

Chase blinked, and reread the whole thing another time. He could really feel House's indifference to death coming through his words, and was shocked that he had been left so much money… Well, there was nothing else he could do now than accept it. With a sigh, he got up and went to the door. Upon trying it, he realized it was locked.

That's when he remembered House locking the doors as soon as they'd got here. It was probably so no one could interpret it as murder; a dead man in a locked room right? But how was Chase supposed to get out now? He looked around and his eyes fell on the door leading to House's balcony.

No… Oh god, no.

But it was the only way. He walked up to the door and noticed it was the kind of lock that could be locked with the door open and closed so that it would stay locked. All he had to do was open it, lock it, step outside and close it so every entrance to the room would be locked. Before proceeding however, he thought over everything; his bag was not in the room, he was wearing it around his shoulders… He was also wearing his coat and shoes… There was absolutely no evidence leading to the fact that he had been here when House killed himself.

So he gulped, opened the door quickly and locked it before stepping out onto the balcony. Then he shut the door firmly. He tried it once, and it didn't budge. It was locked. Chase put his back against it and closed his eyes tightly. There, everything was done. All that was left for him now was to get out of here, somehow. First, he went to the door leading to Wilson's office, stepping over the small brick fence. It was locked of course. Then he walked to the edge of the balcony and looked down.

It was pretty high. No, actually, very, very high. Of course it was high; he thought as he mentally slapped himself, this was the fourth floor… just as he was about to abandon and decide to break into Wilson's office or something, he noticed a small ledge going from beneath the balcony to another balcony, which was very close to a tree, which he could certainly jump onto if he were close enough. He guessed he had no choice anyway. It was either this, or he could jump… But the tree was much too far away for that; he'd just end up killing himself.

Emitting yet another sigh, he climbed over the edge of the balcony, sitting on the edge with his feet dangling into nothingness. He double-checked to see if there wasn't anyone around in the parking that could see him, or anyone in any neighboring windows, but there weren't any from what he could see. So he decided to make it quick; he stepped onto the small ledge on the tip on his toes and grabbed onto the edge of House's balcony with his hands.

After slowly shifting his way over to the balcony close to the tree, he had to perform a sort of little leap to get onto it, which caused him to think of batman, making him smirk. Okay, he was comparing himself to a superhero… Well, at least he wasn't dead. No, he was rather proud of himself for his accomplishment as he gathered up momentum on the ledge of the balcony before jumping onto the big tree, grabbing hold of a large branch, and managing to stay on it. Then he climbed down the tree and jumped to the floor once he was a mere meter away from the ground.

He wiped all the dirt he had on himself before walking back into the hospital casually. The sudden light from the inside of the building made him wince, but he continued on his way back to the ER, where, if he was lucky, no one would have noticed he'd left. Maybe that would be pushing his luck, considering he had not died from going down the front of the hospital, but…

Sure enough, the ER was as jam-packed of sick people as it had been when he'd left, and everyone was so busy that he returned to work without inquires of where he'd been or any other thing of the like. In fact, the night went by quicker than he had thought it would, and when morning came, he checked out and walked up to the conference room as normally as could be.

The sun had risen, and he checked the time; it was exactly six o' clock. Cameron and Foreman should be getting here soon, if they weren't already. He took the elevator to the fourth floor and only once he was inside did it hit him: House was really dead. He'd spent the whole night acting normally, which had been the plan admittedly, and he'd nearly managed to make himself believe everything was normal. But he vividly remembered everything that had happened last night… in horribly accurate memories. At least he could reassure himself that the 'pretending everything is normal' part of this would be over soon. Now he'd get to act surprised and devastated like everyone else would be.

The irony of it was horrible; the fact that he was actually _relieved_ about what was going to happen was… Just too awful for words. The elevator door opened to a scene Chase had not envisioned. There were security guards everywhere and, to top it off, Cameron, Foreman, Cuddy and Wilson were all there too. Chase put on a puzzled face as he approached them, looking around and trying to look tired. It wasn't all that hard after his night shift, mind.

Immediately, Cameron turned around, and Chase noticed she had slightly red eyes, Foreman was looking quite lost and Cuddy had her face in Wilson's lab coat; the latter was holding her closely while he rubbed her back, with a distraught face. Chase stopped and stared curiously at House's office, which was where all the attention was turned to. The door had been forced open, visibly, but it was so full of police officers that he could not see anything that was going on inside it. He heard Foreman clear his throat just as he'd been about to ask, so he turned to look at the neurologist.

"We found that House's office was locked at every entrance, so we called security and they opened it… House was sitting in his chair. He's dead." He told Chase, with an air of wanting to just disappear on the spot. Of course, this was hard for everyone. Chase made a genuinely taken-aback expression which seemed to fool everyone as Foreman gave him an apologetic corner-of-a-smirk and Cameron hung her head. Wilson continued to hold Cuddy, whose trembling shoulders gave indication of her silent sobs.

A police officer came out of House's office suddenly and approached them. "Lisa Cuddy?" He demanded, rather than asked, with his deep forceful voice. In response, the dean of Medicine seemed to tense up; she turned to face the officer with a persuasively dignified look, "That's me." She said in a surprisingly unwavering voice, though her eyes were a little red and her cheeks glistened with tears. The policeman showed her a sheet of paper which only Chase recognized as House's letter. "This is clearly a suicide note," the policeman explained, "We believe it must have been written by Dr House himself, given that all his doors were locked. We will have to analyze it further, but would you tell me if you recognize his handwriting at least?"

And he held up the note for them all to see. Cuddy was the one to speak up; "It's definitely his handwriting." The officer nodded. "Alright. Well take your time to read it and we will see what happens from then on." He left the note to Cuddy and marched away, supposedly to speak with his superiors. Upon receiving the note, Cuddy began to read it quickly. Once she was done, she handed it to Wilson, smirking, "Well, it definitely sounds like him at least." She commented.

Wilson read it too, with Cameron reading over his shoulder. Foreman took it next and Chase read it with him. The neurologist frowned; "He's leaving you money?" He inquired a little suspiciously whilst looking at Chase, who looked away, in a shameful expression. Cuddy took a step forwards; "Robert asked me not to tell anyone, but given the circumstances…" She glanced at Chase who gave her a small shrug, "His father wrote him out of his will… That's why he took a job in the ER." She informed Foreman, who promptly nodded and gave Chase a look that was probably meant to say 'sorry', although Chase couldn't really indentify it all that well.

Everyone fell silent until Cameron said suddenly, in a voice indicating she probably had a headache, "This is awful…" At this, Wilson shook his head. "I was so stupid!" He told them, "He wasn't there when I got home yesterday… I supposed he must be out sulking in a bar or something, so I went to sleep. He wasn't really – I mean, we kind of had a dispute yesterday. I didn't make much of his bad mood, but… This morning, I figured maybe he went to work early. I panicked when I saw that the whole supply of beer was empty next to the kitchen sink and I drove strait here. I really should have called you right away, Lisa..." He looked at Cuddy with a real sorry look, and she rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"If it's anyone's fault… it's all of ours. It's normal for us to think we should have seen signs or something…" She said and Chase replied, "He clearly says in his letter that it's not our fault." Nobody answered. They all felt dreadful, which was making Chase feel a little more dreadful, if possible.

But he couldn't tell anyone. He couldn't, because it would undo what House had proved by dying – Chase thought maybe he understood a little what House had been thinking. Not only had House been done with life, life had given him all it had.

In truth, maybe Chase didn't even understand at all, but he liked to think he did. If only just a little. It was sad, but what House had done, like most of the things he'd done in life, he had done it only for himself.

----

A/N: Surprised much? Don't hate me! Please. I did this because I wanted to try something different than your usual happy ending. Just bear with me okay?

And just as a side-note; I am NOT a doctor. Not even close, or anything. So I have no idea if my potassium chloride thing works. All I have to say in my defense is that Google is my friend :) If you happen to know any doctor stuff, and I made a mistake or something, would you take the time to correct me? If not well…. I'll stick with what I wrote.

Alright, well, I don't think the next chapter will be very long, and it will be the last one. Hopefully, it will explain all that could have been unclear. Thanks for reading!


	9. Forever

I hope you don't hate me too much for what I did in the last chapter, and hopefully this chapter, as short as it may be, will clarify some things. To those of you who have stuck with me until the end, thank you. Thanks also to everyone who reviewed, and also to those who read even if they did not review.

So this is the last chapter. Notice that there is no dialogue, as a parallel to the name of the first.

I, again and always, do not own House, M.D..

**Chapter Nine**

**Forever**

----

That night was sleepless for Chase. He could not stop tossing and turning around, unable to feel even remotely sleepy. Nine o' clock had come and gone, and it had been nearly too much for him to bear when he thought that it had been exactly twenty-four hours since House had killed himself. This time, he had actually cried.

Sitting in his bed, it was now ten thirty and he was still all curled up and trembling. His tears had dried, but he still didn't have the will to move even if he very much felt the need to go to the bathroom and eat something. The day had indeed been very long; their baby patient had died and the parents were devastated. The mother kept crying and saying it was her fault over and over again… They had yet to figure out why.

Cuddy had made some arrangements for House to be buried tomorrow morning on the grounds of the hospital itself, with a special memorial plate, which was to be hung on the wall on the fourth floor just outside the conference room. The mood had been rather morose in the hospital that day, as the news had spread around quickly that Gregory House had committed suicide. People were shocked, but didn't make much more of the news. The ducklings however, had nothing else on their mind than House. They tried to concentrate on medicine, but found it difficult. Everything reminded Chase of House – everything from the coffee machine, to the whiteboard… all down to every single colored marker stored next to the board.

He could barley take it, but he knew he couldn't give in or else it would all have been in vain. He needed it to mean something. He also knew it was all a normal part of going through the death of someone, regardless of the reason, or lack thereof. It was understandable that he would go through all this pain, but he couldn't let it get to him. Otherwise, he'd slip up and someone would find out about what he'd done…

At last, Chase decided to get up to get a glass of water. He was so tired, but furthermore scared of falling asleep. He drank his water, and couldn't pluck up the courage to get back to bed afterwards, so instead he went to the living room and turned the TV on. Slumping on the couch with TV to entertain him was a much better idea than staying curled up at the bottom of his bed like a frightened puppy, he decided as he tuned into some old _Friends _rerun. Much better.

After a few episodes, his mind seemed to have switched off. He was now completely uninterested by the TV; it was merely providing a distraction so that he would not fall asleep. His mind was devoid of thoughts, and it seemed like he was dreaming while also being awake. The fact he was awake was undeniable; he could see the TV and what was going on in the screen, but he was also seeing all sorts of images. Memory flashes of the last few days flared before him, twisting around him and tormenting him with reminders of what he had done.

He grasped locks of hair with his fists firmly, rested his face in the space between both his palms, and started to shudder in silent, wet sobs.

----

Sunlight shone through the high windows into the room, creeping down the wall though not entirely reaching the ground. Shadows were eerily amplified as people moved around in the morgue, all facing in the same direction. The room was silent as everyone began to settle down. They were watching the three people lifting a heavy case out of a hole in the wall.

It was heavy, but together Wilson, Foreman and Chase were able to slide the coffin out and pull it onto its resting table. It had been decided that House would be buried here, given that he probably would never have wanted to rest in a church cemetery. The large case was then transported outside by Wilson, Foreman and Chase accompanied by a couple other doctors. Everyone followed suit and took a seat in front of the coffin, which was deposited on yet another large table in front of the assembly.

Then the doctors went to sit too after opening the coffin so that everyone could contemplate he who was lain inside. The assembly was still deathly silent. There were no sounds except for the wind blowing in the branches of the trees, drifting in a cool breeze through the audience. It was a strange day; one that you could not qualify as nice or bad. The rain had been on and off since morning and the sun was playing hide-and-seek with the clouds continuously.

Just as it had seemed all was well and that nothing would disturb this peace, the people were brought to alertness as someone walked up to the front. Everyone watched as Lisa Cuddy took the microphone and began talking. Chase tried his best to listen to her speech at first, but found it difficult to maintain uninterrupted attention after only a few moments. What she was saying about House was insignificant to him.

Of _course_ everyone knew what a good doctor House had been. Of _course_ all the people attending this funeral was aware of the hard timed House had been through in his life. They had all come to know House for his blatant personality, and Cuddy spoke of how he had been so broken inside. Apparently, she seemed to think she had known him.

Chase didn't care. She could keep her delusions if they meant that much to her, but no one had known House really. How could they have? No one here could have suspected he would actually go through with this. Even if they had suspected it, they'd have no way of knowing his reasons. Even Chase did not. House's reasons, Chase would never know. He could guess, but not _know_ definitively.

He glanced around and saw Cameron sitting a few seats away. She was the person who looked devastated the most here, after Wilson. She obviously had been unable to contain her tears for she was letting them stream down her cheeks freely. Good. She didn't care if people saw her crying. Chase did. He was guilty when he caught himself crying… he definitely wouldn't want anyone witnessing it. The fact he didn't want to cry for House was sad.

Even sadder was the reason he detested the thought of it was because of House himself, House had clearly told him not to be sad, which was practically impossible, but he still had to try. He shouldn't cry, and he wouldn't anymore. So he looked away from Cameron, looking for Foreman, who was seated three rows behind his own. He looked moody and somber, which was different from his usual emotionless mask. That's all it was, though… Clearly, Foreman didn't want to cry either.

No, that was just stupid. Chase doubted Foreman would ever cry for House. He had respected him, but nothing more. For Chase, House had been so much more… Not any longer. It suddenly hit him when he looked back at Cuddy, or more precisely, as the man in the coffin behind her, that House would really be gone now. This funeral didn't mean a lot to Chase, only that it sealed the fact he was dead. The man he had loved was dead.

Cuddy had stopped talking and went back to her seat. A short pause followed, in which people didn't seem sure what they had to do, or even if they were here at all. But the lost expression everyone was wearing dissipated as they stood and approached the coffin slowly, silently, one-by-one, to pay their last respects.

Chase stood in line behind Cameron, who was trembling a little. He put an arm around her and she jumped slightly before turning her reddened eyes to him, her expression making it clear she appreciated the gesture. He gave her a short-lived smile, though it wasn't a happy smile, merely one of compassion and she turned back to the front. He sighed and put his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers and took a few steps as the line advanced.

He watched Cuddy step away from House and walk off with Wilson, who was looking very concerned for her, patting her arm while she made a face suggesting she was trying not to cry. Then Foreman walked away from House and it was Cameron's turn. While she placed her bouquet of flowers at House's feet in the coffin and stood quite still – Chase guessed she must be saying a prayer in her mind or something of the sort – he watched the people around them.

A lot of the hospital employees were here, though many had stayed at work in the hospital because there always had to be people there for emergencies, and also some people Chase didn't recognize at all. Old friends of House, perhaps. He could see House's parents a few meters away; House's mother crying silently wile her husband held her hand with a distant stare towards the sky.

Now it was Chase's turn and he stepped onto the platform next to the coffin quickly, staring down at House with slight surprise. He had imagined that House would look like he was sleeping… But his face was chalky and pale; he seemed almost ghostly. Large bunches of roses laid in rows at his feet and in the lid of the casket, mounded around the gold engraved rectangular plate that would later be moved to the fourth floor corridor in the hospital:

_Rest In Peace Gregory House (June 11, 1959 – May 8, 2005)_

_You shall remain eternally in our hearts and minds. One of the greatest doctors Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital has had the privilege of employing. A good doctor – and a great person. _

In all honesty, Chase thought that didn't sound like House much. Indeed, he didn't think House would have liked being considered anything less than 'the greatest doctor PPTH has ever and will ever have', but all the same, the plate was nice and shiny – he might still have liked it. In any case, Chase didn't need it to remind him that House was a great doctor. House was a great man, possibly the greatest man Chase would ever know, and he, much more than anyone else, understood this.

It took great strength to overcome suffering, and House had overcome a lot of it these past weeks just to make Chase happy. Possibly because he had not been quite sure, but once his choice had been made, House had overcame the greatest fear of all – that of death. It had been quite clear in the past that House didn't want to die, but it was also a well-known fact that hearts can change. And nothing lasts for ever.

House had known that his suffering could not last eternally, thus, ended it. Things were exactly as they should be.

Chase would never tell anyone. House had chosen to confide in _him_, and that would remain forever theirs. Forever there, as a reminder of what had been, and what will be.

_Memores acti prudentes futuri _Chase thought contentedly, feeling an ecstatic deliverance as he lay down his bunch of white roses next to House with a smile.

----


End file.
